


Berlin

by rabidsamfan, Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 58,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/pseuds/rabidsamfan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Purdey, a new agent-in-training, gets tapped by Steed to go and pull Mike Gambit out of a bad situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Talented Amateur

****

Berlin

Chapter 1: A Talented Amateur

by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel

Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.

_Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+ Image and The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink __(though you can see it at_ http://docs.google.com/View?docID=d4pccjp_215hr7t95 if you're curious.)_ It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play..._

* * *

"I took three bullets whilst scrambling over the Wall last year..." – Mike Gambit, _The Eagle's Nest_

* * *

Purdey was as surprised as any of her martial arts classmates when Steed _(Steed!_) put his bowler-topped head into the dojo and interrupted Spence. "Do you mind if I borrow Purdey?"

"Of course not," Spence answered cheerfully. "Should she change first?"

The legendary agent glanced over to Purdey, and she resisted the urge to tug the lapels of her jacket closer together. She had had the good sense to begin wearing a leotard under the shapeless white gi after the first lesson, and it wasn't her fault that the only clean leotard she'd had left this morning was the one which had been tie-dyed in brilliant pinks and purples and yellows during the celebration of the end of finals while she was at the Sorbonne. Still, somehow the garishness hadn't mattered quite so much at six in the morning when she'd put it in her gym bag.

Steed didn't seem to mind, though. He was certainly giving her a friendly eye. "Yes," he answered Spence, although he nodded to Purdey. "This may take some time."

She showered and changed in record time, not sure whether to be glad or sorry that she'd chosen to wear the "Mata Hari" outfit her mother had gifted her with as congratulations for passing the first few hurdles and making Trainee status. It was a beautiful white silk dress, with a matching hat, and she'd been glad to have her "official" identification picture taken in it. But it suddenly occurred to her that the dress was as noticeable in its own way as the leotard had been – and it was clinging rather more than usual since she hadn't taken the time to get completely dry before putting it on.

Luckily, Steed either didn't notice, or was too much of a gentleman to let his glance linger. He took her arm and started her down the corridor. "You understand German, don't you?" Steed asked, as they turned toward the records section and Purdey bit down hard on the urge to pretend expertise.

"I can get by," she said carefully. "I'm better at French or Russian."

"You don't need to be perfect," Steed said. "In fact, if you play it as if you don't understand more than the average tourist, you may hear something useful. I need someone to go over to Berlin and fetch out an injured agent. Preferably someone who hasn't turned up in their lists just yet." He beamed at her. "Interested?"

"Very," she said. "But you do know I've only been in training for a week?"

"That's why you won't be on their lists. Besides, I need a girl."

"Why a girl?"

"Because none of the rest of the trainees can really pass as 'Mabel'." He pushed open the door to the room where she'd come this morning to have her photo taken and gestured her inside.

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "Mabel?" she echoed. "Should be interesting."

* * *

The flight to Berlin was barely long enough to get her instructions firmly memorized, and she torched the flashpaper list in the airplane loo just as the pilot announced that everyone should return to their seats for landing. Steed had managed to get her aboard -- with false papers in the name of Mabel Horrocks! -- not an hour after she'd agreed to go, and her stomach was only now noticing what she'd got herself into. _I'll have to get used to this,_ she told herself firmly. _Jangling nerves... Jangly nerves? Why would nerves jangle? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I don't need them now. This is an easy job. Go to the hospital, get them to sign Gambit out for transport back to London, and then fly home._

Of course, the tricky part was likely to be convincing Gambit that he should come along. She'd have to talk pretty fast to get him to accept her act as "Mabel" before someone suspected something. Steed had given her a password, of course, but it wasn't going to be easy to find a reason to mention Debussy in the first thirty seconds. Or fifteen... _Why not just bring Gambit out the usual way?_ Steed had been very cagey about his reasons for sending Purdey -- not that he'd had time to elaborate during the mad dash to Heathrow. Go in, get Gambit, get out -- that was the assignment, and Purdey suppressed a craven wish that she would be testing her mettle with the aid of a more experienced agent. One of the West Germans, perhaps, who wouldn't be as likely to use the wrong word in a crisis.

But Steed had said not to let anyone -- except Gambit, who wouldn't need to be told -- know that she was anything but a concerned family member. An aunt, in case Gambit had said that much under the anesthesia -- the trophy wife of a fictitious Uncle John who was laid up and couldn't come himself, commissioned to bring the wayward lad home again. She wondered what exactly had happened to him. Steed hadn't heard the answering machine message for himself, and knew no more than the third-hand tale he'd heard from the real Mabel Horrocks. The doctor had said Gambit was robbed. And so he might have been, Steed admitted, but not unless he was already disabled. More likely something had gone wrong as he came back over the Wall.

She considered the possibilities all the way through customs and on the cab ride to the hospital, only to ditch the lot as soon as she reached the hospital. She hadn't expected it to be so close to the graffiti-encrusted Wall, and her first view of that concrete and barbed wire barrier gave her chills. Better to contemplate the hospital. It was a beautiful old building made of red brick, but on closer inspection it proved to have a faintly shabby air of neglect, and most of the staff appeared to be either as green as grass or eking out their time in harness with eyes turned ahead towards retirement. The exceptions were mostly orderlies, as near as she could see -- tall, beefy men who wouldn't have looked out of place in wartime propaganda film.

Purdey made her way over to the reception desk. The nurse manning it was obviously playing for the retirement team. She regarded Purdey with little interest. Well, no one had said anything about a welcoming committee. Purdey put on her most charming smile.

"Hello," she began, then winced and made a show of digging into the voluminous shoulderbag that she'd been issued along with the fake papers and a "standard suitcase-female". Steed had acquired a touristy phrase book from an airport kiosk and added it to the usual equipment, not out of doubt in her linguistic abilities, but as a prop, and she thought this was the best place to start employing it. The nurse waited with an air of bored patience while Purdey flipped through the pages and then continued in German. _"I'm here to see one of your patients..."_

"Name?" the nurse asked, using the English word, which Purdey thought was a fairly gentle way to indicate that she meant to put someone out of linguistic misery.

"Gambit," Purdey sniffled. "Michael Gambit. My husband's nephew. I was told he'd been in some sort of incident, and, well--" Purdey rummaged in her bag again, and produced a handkerchief to dab her eyes. She was suddenly very glad of the drama classes she'd been required to take at the Royal Ballet School. Hopefully the high marks she'd usually received were an accurate indicator of her skills. "My husband and I were so worried; I came over as soon as I could, to bring him home."

The receptionist didn't look unconvinced, which was good, but she didn't seem particularly sympathetic, either. Oh, well. Purdey wasn't looking for tea and sympathy, anyway. She waited while the receptionist rifled through some files, opened one on top of the desk, and gave it a once-over. "Ah, ja," the woman said, with dawning recognition. "The young man who was shot."

Purdey had half expected that -- Gambit wouldn't have needed a surgeon for a few bruises. But she wobbled a little, the way she thought that Mabel ought to, and reached out to grab the counter, as if to steady herself. "Shot? No one said anything about him being shot."

The nurse nodded. "Ja, three times. These dangerous thieves we have."

_Three times?!_ "Is he going to be all right?" Purdey asked, glad that being Mabel gave her a good reason for a quaver in her voice.

That elicited a shrug from the receptionist. "You must ask Dr. Buchheim this when he comes on rounds. But according to the file I see that your nephew made it through the night, and there have been no complications with the surgery."

"Oh, thank goodness." Purdey put a hand over her chest dramatically. "Could I see him?"

"Room 305," the nurse confirmed, and signalled for one of the beefy orderlies. "That's in the oldest part of the building. He'll escort you."

"Oh, thank you. You've been so helpful in this difficult time." The nurse nodded, and waved Purdey off in the direction of the stairs. The orderly indicated for her to go first.

"This way."

After trekking through a maze of corridors, they finally arrived at room 305. The orderly opened the door for her, and she stepped inside.

Steed had supplied Purdey with a picture of Gambit amongst the other briefing material. She'd taken a good long look -- she wanted to be able to recognize him quickly -- but since the picture had been a black and white Xerox of what had probably been a color photo, and small enough to fit on an ID card, it had been about as complimentary as a driver's license, and she'd wondered what he'd look like with the colors filled in. She was still wondering -- his face was ghost white, blending in too well with the pillow, and thrown into sharp relief by the dark curly hair –- but it was a handsome face despite the scruff of unshaven beard. High cheekbones and what her mother would call a "strong" nose and chin, eyebrows as dark as the hair and eyelashes that might make a model jealous. His hands were bruised and scraped, but shapely under the traces of a too hasty cleaning. And as for the rest of him – well, no one looked their best in a hospital bed, but Purdey had to admit that the half that was showing above the top edge of the covers was in good shape. Although if he worked out as zealously as her classmates did, that was no surprise.

He was surrounded by machines and tubes, all of which were hooked up to various parts of his body, and Purdey couldn't help but pay extra notice to the bright patches of white where he'd been bandaged up. _The chest, the arm... I wonder where the third bullet hit._

Purdey realised she was being eyed by the orderly, and that she'd been standing there gaping a bit too long. "He's so pale," she said by way of explanation. "It's a bit of a shock." Dab, dab with the handkerchief. She was debating whether or not to try and wake him, since his eyes had yet to open, when she saw the flicker of an eyelid. One blue eye slid open, then the other. He stared at Purdey for a moment, confusion written across his features. Purdey stared back.

"Your aunt has come to see you," explained the orderly. Gambit frowned.

"But you're not--"

"Uncle John!" Purdey blurted out, before Gambit could blow her cover. Gambit and the orderly jolted a little in surprise, and Purdey realised her volume was a touch above what was really appropriate in these circumstances. "I know, Michael. He wanted to be here, but you know his lungs are still weak after that bout with pneumonia, and he can't travel with all that dry, recirculated air on the plane, so he sent me instead."

"But I haven't seen you--" Gambit tried to protest.

"Since the Debussy concert last summer in the midlands, I know." Purdey started making her way to his bedside. "But I've missed you all this time, and you haven't even bothered to write. Then I get here and find out you've been shot. Honestly, you look like you've been in a hunting accident."

Gambit's eyes had narrowed just the tiniest bit when she had said the code word, and Purdey felt a wash of relief. Now all she had to do was keep up the act. "Never mind, though. I'm just glad to see you alive." She leaned in to give him an auntly peck on the forehead, but Gambit's hand came up fast around the back of her neck to change the trajectory so that her mouth ended up against his.

"Michael," she sputtered as she tried to pull away, "Uncle John."

"What Uncle John doesn't know won't hurt him," Gambit purred, and pulled her back into the kiss. This time Purdey found it harder to fight, and she heard the embarrassed cough of the orderly almost through a haze.

"I will leave you to, er, talk," he managed, in English, before quitting the room, muttering something about the marital ethics of the British upper class.

As soon as he was gone, Purdey snapped out of the pleasant daze into which she had lapsed as a sharp pain emanated from her neck. She was still trying to figure out exactly what was happening when she heard Gambit's voice, soft and close to her ear.

"What you don't know," he told her, his voice laced with menace, "_can_ hurt you. Fatally, even."

Purdey blanched, and tried to say something, but Gambit clamped his other hand over her mouth.

"You really shouldn't whisper little intimacies in my ear like that, Mabel," he announced to the room at large. "What if someone was listening?" He fixed her with a meaningful gaze.

Purdey's eyes widened. She'd have to be a fool not to understand what he was trying to tell her. Gambit's room was bugged. She nodded slightly to indicate understanding, but not too much, since his other hand was still squeezing the back of her neck, threatening to do much more than knock off her already precarious hat. Gambit had eased the grip a little, but he was still regarding her with a healthy dose of skepticism. He didn't believe her, even with the codeword. Not that she blamed him when the hospital was under surveillance. She'd have to come up with some way of convincing him. Something about Steed, maybe. She didn't know much about the man, beyond rumors and what she'd seen on Orientation Day.

"Uncle John," she tried. Surely he knew she meant Steed? "He really is quite worried about you, although he said you wouldn't believe that -- that you'd think he was just talking through his hat." She reached up tentatively and obliged him with a mini-doff of her own chapeau, hoping he'd recognise the advanced target range model's signature gesture.

Gambit raised an eyebrow at that. "Did he?"

Purdey racked her brains. What else could she say? Steed had been so very cryptic on the drive to the airport. But he had said _one_ thing that might matter. "Yes, but he's still going to leave you the trust fund. You know how he likes to be prepared for a rainy day."

That did it. The hand loosened, and Purdey found she could stand up straight again.

"So, Mabel," Gambit said, after mouthing a 'sorry' at her. "You heard the news and came running?"

"Something like that," Purdey told him, keeping up the charade for their uninvited listeners. "Although I'd no idea you'd been shot. Nothing vital, I hope?"

"The one in the chest didn't do my lung much good. The other two were only flesh wounds." Gambit said it so casually he could have easily been discussing the latest cricket scores. Purdey couldn't help but be a little impressed. An actual agent, working in the field! She only hoped she'd be able to pass the tests.

"Some hunting accident," she put in for the cover. "Or was it a jealous husband? You don't look anything like a grouse."

"Someone thought so," Gambit reminded her, his mouth pursing grimly as his whole face darkened. "Someone who shouldn't have." The cloud passed, and he seemed to remember she was there. "Going to be visiting long?"

"Your uncle thought I'd be able to bring you home on the next flight," she said doubtfully, looking at the monitors. "But..."

"What, all that lot?" Gambit said. "I'm not sure it's strictly necessary." He shifted a little on his pillow, trying to look too, and Purdey saw the green line of the heart monitor pick up its pace. "But you can thank him for the thought. He knows how much I hate hospitals."

"Herr Gambit?" A nurse came through the door, carrying a tray with a cup of water and a dish of pills. She was in her late twenties, perky, with an hourglass figure and a head of glorious red hair. Purdey's hackles went up, and she took Gambit's hand possessively. "It is time for your ... oh," the intruder said brightly, her eyes fixing only for a moment on the lipstick that had transferred itself to Gambit's face before they came up to meet Purdey's. "You have the visitor!"

"It can't be time already," Gambit said sullenly. "I had the last doses at noon."

"Yes, perhaps a bit early, but we are very understaffed. And the doctor, now for to remove the tube for the draining he is coming. You will need the pain pill, ja?"

_That's not a very good job of pretending to have limited English,_ Purdey thought. _She sounds like something out of a bad operetta._ "Which doctor is that?" she asked, hoping her voice wouldn't betray too much hostility. Or if it did, that the girl would mistake the cause.

"Doctor Wilhelm Buchheim."

Purdey relaxed a fraction. "Oh, that's the doctor who called and left the message for us." She saw the question in Gambit's eyes and continued. "I think he must be the surgeon who operated on you."

"The one who saved my life, you mean?" Gambit said.

"Oh, surely it wasn't that bad," Purdey protested, the way she thought that Mabel should, but her hand tightened on his before she let it go. She felt like he was asking another question as well, one she didn't know the answer to, about how trustworthy the doctor must be. "But we were grateful to him for calling. And it's not like you can go anywhere with that tube still in you."

"True enough." Gambit accepted the pills from the nurse one at a time, and chased them down with sips of water. But once the woman had delivered a grammar-deficient homily about how he should be resting and not chatting with visitors and gone, he tapped Purdey's elbow. "Can I borrow your handkerchief?"

Purdey dug into her purse and produced it, and he used it to wipe his mouth -- but when he handed it back she could feel the shapes of two half-melted pills tucked into the folds of cloth. She started to look at them and then had to hastily convert the movement into a faked sneeze when the door to the room opened again. She tucked the handkerchief into her purse again and turned to face the new threat.

But the elderly doctor who had come in made her think of nothing more dangerous than a beneficent monk, complete with balding head and kind, understanding eyes. "Gesundheit," he said politely. "I'm afraid, however, if you have a cold, you should not be visiting my patient."

"Oh, it's not a cold," Purdey said hastily, kicking herself for the mistake. "I think I must be allergic to the perfume that nurse was wearing."

One bushy eyebrow rose. "She must be one of the substitutes who were sent over from Krankenhaus Benjamin Franklin," he said thoughtfully. "Our regular staff all know better than to use scent while they are working. Particularly near thoracic patients." He nodded to her. "Forgive me, I am Doctor Buchheim."

"Mabel Horrocks," Purdey had been expecting that unvoiced question, and she was pleased with how quickly she came back with the right answer. She accepted the handshake across the bed.

"And Mr. Gambit," the doctor added, taking one of Gambit's wrists and feeling for the pulse. "You do not remember me, I am sure, but we met very early yesterday morning."

"Actually, I do," Gambit said, studying the doctor's face. "You kept poking at things and telling me to breathe."

The doctor nodded. "Very good! And that reminds me -- you entrusted to me this." From a pocket he produced a gold chain with a St. Christopher and a small silver key dangling from it.

For the first time Purdey saw Gambit smile. It was a nice smile, and it changed his whole face, making him look younger and even more attractive. "I thought I'd lost it." He accepted the chain gladly and began to fumble at the catch.

"Let me," Purdey said, taking the chain and unhooking the clasp before handing the chain back to Gambit. "There."

"I am sorry. I would have brought it sooner, but it has been a very busy time. Several of my best nurses have taken ill." Given the dark circles under the surgeon's eyes, Purdey thought that might be the truth.

"That's all right." Gambit slid the key off the chain and handed it to Purdey. "Here. You can make yourself useful, Auntie."

"I can?"

"Well, the doctor's about to throw you out while he pokes some more. So you can pop over to the train station and see what the schedule looks like. Uncle John won't wait for us forever." The IV in his uninjured arm got in the way of Gambit's being able to get the chain back around his neck, but Purdey didn't think that was why he was scowling.

"I planned to take you home on a plane," Purdey answered, frowning. She took the chain and got it into place, hooking the clasp.

"Mr. Gambit is not going to be fit to travel by air for several days, I'm afraid," the doctor said, "Not until there is no risk to the lung. But he is quite correct. I am going to ask you to give us some privacy."

"All right," Purdey sighed. "I'll be back soon." She actually succeeded in kissing Gambit's forehead that time, and he gave her a saucy wink before she left. She couldn't help but smile at the gall of the man--he didn't even know her name.

* * *

Purdey thoughts were zipping along at high speed while she found her way back down through the maze of corridors and out onto the street. If Gambit was under surveillance, this had obviously gone beyond a simple retrieval assignment. The nurse was definitely suspect; she didn't fit either of the teams Purdey had picked out earlier and if Gambit was foregoing his pain meds, he must have come to a similar conclusion. Heaven only knew how much he was suffering without them. No wonder he was so pale.

It wasn't until she was in the cab that she realized that she didn't know _which_ train station Gambit wanted her to go to. She pulled out her tourist phrase book, and some pamphlets she'd snagged while waiting for her luggage at the airport to try to figure it out, but the cab driver, when he was consulted, said that there was only one train station that mattered if you wanted to leave Berlin going west -- the Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten -- usually just called the Bahnhof Zoo.

It was smaller than she expected -- nothing like the size of Paddington or King's Cross -- and crowded with not only travellers but also knots of young people clad in things that had been bright once, but had grown shabby through too much wear. Some were blithely ignoring the world around them, some begged for coins, and some were eyeing the regular commuters like lions contemplating a herd of gazelles. Purdey held on tight to her purse as she waited in the line to the wickets where she could ask for a copy of the schedule. When she reached the counter, she made a snap decision, and purchased several sets of tickets for as many departure times as possible over the next few days, regardless of destinations, as long as the trains were heading west. If Gambit was up to it, she wanted to get him out of that hospital as soon as possible, out of Berlin ideally. She had a feeling they might need to keep their options open, and besides, what good was an expense account if you didn't make use of it? The man who gave her her tickets looked at her a little oddly but didn't comment. By now he probably thought that all tourists were mad.

The thick packet of tickets safely stowed in her purse, she set out on her other, implicitly-assigned task. The key. Obviously to a locker of some sort.

It didn't take Purdey long to locate Gambit's locker--125, as it said on the key. Inside she found one gray suitcase, and a small carry-on. The man travelled light, she had to give him that. Putting the carry-on over her shoulder, she got a good grip on the suitcase, and made her way back toward the entrance to hail another cab.

On the drive back, Purdey's curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to do a little snooping. After all, she was justified in knowing something of the man that wasn't in the files, and since he'd already gotten a kiss out of her, she thought he owed her at least that much. The suitcase was too awkward to open in the back of a cab, but the carry-on rested perfectly in her lap. In one fluid motion, she had it unzipped and was rifling through it. A few mundane items--toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, shaving kit. Some sort of magazine for people who collected weapons--crossbows, blow-pipes. Purdey flipped through it and quickly lost interest. No codes or anything, unless the star Gambit had put by some little miniature crossbow used by vampire hunters was meant to indicate something other than "I want." She doubted it, and decided that Gambit had better have some other hobbies if they were going to get on at all. That was when she found the book on syllogisms. Philosophy. Maybe they'd be all right after all...There was also a second, smaller book. Slim, black, no writing on the outside. Some sort of address and appointment book. Purdey opened it to a random page, and read a few of the names, complete with telephone numbers and notes, presumably about each person. It didn't take long for Purdey to realise that all the people listed were women. One entry had been a Ph. D. student of Greek history and literature. Purdey was surprised to feel her eyes narrow and her lips purse angrily. She found herself concocting a few unpleasant fates for Miss Greek Student. She briefly considered throwing the little black book out the window, but realised that would only lead to questions. She popped it back in the bag. There was also a 4x6 envelope with all of the required "top secret" and "button-lip" insignias. Purdey let that be. She had the clearance, but not the "need to know," and with the regulations echoing in her head from yesterday's class, she wasn't about to risk her nascent career for idle curiosity. If Gambit wanted her to know, he would tell her. She zipped the bag back up. After that book, she wasn't really interested in finding out anything more anyway.

She made a brief stop in the waiting room. If Gambit and the doctor were still busy, she'd need something to keep herself occupied, and she wasn't planning on dipping into the little black book again. There was the usual stack of magazines, and Purdey rifled through them in search of the German equivalent of _Vogue._ She found several issues of something called _Brigitte,_ which seemed a close substitute. They were all hideously out-of-date, of course. Purdey marvelled at the seemingly universal creed that no waiting room be blessed with any publication less than six months past its relevance. Sometimes she swore doctors ordered the things special from the back issue bins.

But by the time she returned to the hospital room, Gambit was alone again. Some of the machines had been unhooked, and he didn't have an IV to worry about, but the EKG was still connected and blipping softly, its wires vanishing under a fresh nightshirt that hid the worst of the damage. His color was better than it had been though, and his eyes opened straight away.

"Mabel!" he greeted her, looking nearly as delighted as he'd been to get his chain back again. "You came back!"

"Of course I did," she said, shaking her head at him and resisting the urge to smile back. "I left my suitcase here, remember? Speaking of which..." She held up the things she'd picked up at the train station. "Anything you wanted right away? Magazines? _Books?__"_ She hadn't meant to stress that last one, but she was still bothered by the slim tome, and bothered that it bothered her.

Gambit regarded her quizzically, but he beckoned her closer and took the smaller bag as soon as he could reach it. "I'm not up to reading just yet," he said, as he checked the contents.

"You look better, though," she said, making a conscious effort to be less hostile. He'd be asking her what was wrong otherwise and she had no intention of explaining.

"Dr. Buchheim decided to use Novocain on me to get the tube out, since he had to poke around the incision," Gambit said, and looked up long enough to grin at her again. "I can't feel a blessed thing anywhere near the stitches." He pulled the shaving kit out and tucked the bag down beside his hip. "Ah... here. I could use a shave. Plug it in for me, will you, Mabel-love?"

_Mabel-love?_ But he winked at her in a way that wasn't so much flirtatious as it was sharing a secret. She took the cord of his electric razor and found an outlet near the headboard.

He switched on the razor and began to run it over his chin. "There -- that'll scramble any bugs so we can talk. Did you get a schedule?"

"Better. I got tickets, starting tonight and going forward for the next few days. I didn't think anyone could be watching me yet."

He nodded. "Probably not. Any questions on your side? I can't keep this going forever."

Purdey remembered the handkerchief. "Why aren't you taking the pain pills?"

"Keep from saying something under the influence. Something incriminating. Plus, I'm not entirely certain they're just pain pills. Might be a truth drug. Either way, I'm not risking it. I've already taken enough chances, and who knows what's come out under anaesthesia, or while I've been sleeping." As if the mention of sleep were too much he had to pause to yawn.

"You need your rest," Purdey told him. "Look, we can't possibly get out of Berlin until this evening. Take a nap now. I'll keep an eye on you, and if you start blurting out top hush information, I'll be sure to give you a poke."

"Thanks." That smile again. Purdey felt her knees wobble a bit. "Keep an eye on that nurse while you're at it. I don't trust her as far as I can throw her." He finished his face. "That's all our time. I'm not going to risk any longer. I'll be a little more coherent after I've slept." He indicated the razor. "Ready?" She nodded, and he switched it off and went on talking as if he were in the middle of something. "...but you know how bad Uncle John is about sending letters. Last I heard from him was a postcard saying he was nearly well and that you were thinking about taking on a new job. You do have a _new_ job, don't you?"

"Very new," Purdey answered, catching his slight emphasis on the word. "First pay packet next Friday."

Gambit's eyebrows climbed into his hair. "That's new all right," he muttered.

"Yes," she went on, pretending blitheness. "But I'm told I'm going to be very good at it. Now. You should really close your eyes and get some rest."

"But..." he began.

"Nap first. Then we'll talk." Purdey pushed him against the pillow, and confiscated the razor.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" he asked, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"I want you to _sleep_, " Purdey informed him, but she kissed a fingertip and touched it to his lips anyway. "Sweet dreams."

"You may depend on it," he said with a grin, and in seconds he was out.

* * *

A couple of hours passed, and Purdey didn't leave Gambit's side, much to the annoyance of the pretty nurse, who checked in on the patient a few times more than was strictly necessary, especially since the place was so understaffed to begin with. She treated Purdey with what she obviously thought were friendly smiles, but they sent chills down Purdey's spine, and she scooched her chair a bit closer to Gambit's bedside.

The joys of flipping through the magazines palled fairly quickly, but that was all right -- it gave Purdey some time to think. Gambit looked quite serene when he slept; ironic considering what he'd been through. Shot. Just like her father. Only Gambit had lived to tell about it. She sighed at the memory. She hadn't thought much about the ramifications of her late father's occupation until recently, since she had joined the Ministry. It was hard to reconcile the warm man she had known with the cool professionals she'd passed in the corridors, men who could kill you without batting an eye. Her father _must _have killed people, but she couldn't wrap her head around it. Gambit obviously had, too, considering the grip he'd gotten on her neck. He could've incapacitated her easily.

Presumably Purdey would have to do the deed some day. She was prepared for the eventuality, and people did say she took after her father in many ways. Although she was fairly certain he hadn't greeted his Mata Haris the way Gambit had her. She grinned. Her mother wouldn't have stood for it, that much was certain.

That brought her back to the kiss. At least she was getting a few perks out of the job, even if Gambit's prowess was obviously due to a lot of practice.

Eventually, the orderly turned up again, bringing Gambit's dinner. Gambit's eyelids flickered open as the man shifted around the bedtable and set the tray in front of him. Purdey rose and made her way over to Gambit so he wouldn't have to sit up unassisted. "Still here?" he managed through a half-yawn.

"Someone has to tend the bedside. It was the reason Uncle John sent me out." The orderly cranked up the head of the bed and Purdey rearranged pillows so that Gambit could face his dinner. But she waited until the orderly had gone before she took the warming cover off the tray. Underneath was a bowl of some kind of porridge, served with a packet of sugar and a small dish of butter. Gambit scowled at it, and Purdey got the impression he didn't trust it anymore than he did the pills.

"It doesn't look like much," she admitted.

"Doesn't taste like much either," Gambit grumbled, poking at it with a spoon. Then he brightened a little. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No," Purdey's stomach rumbled and she felt her cheeks going pink. "Not since breakfast, actually."

"Dr. Buchheim said he wanted me to get out of bed for a while, to start getting my strength back. There's got to be food somewhere in this place. Why don't I go with you and keep you company while you have some real food? I'll admit I'm going a little stir-crazy here."

Purdey grinned. That was one way of getting out of range of the listeners. "What the nurses don't know won't hurt them, but do you think you can make it that far?"

"I don't see why not," he told her, already removing some of the wires from his body, before swinging his feet out from under the covers and making an attempt at actually standing. That didn't go too badly but when he tried to lean over to hunt out his slippers he paled and Purdey had to reach out and steady him before he pitched forward. He looked at her ruefully, and sat down again. "Standing straight up isn't too bad, but, bending down's a whole nother matter. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to help me into my trousers." He gestured to the suitcase she had retrieved earlier. Then the grin came back and his eyes swept over her speculatively. "Unless you'd like to get into them first, Mabel-love." The touch of Cockney in his accent got stronger on the last sentence and Purdey raised an eyebrow. She wasn't entirely certain he was playing a part for the listeners. _My, you don't waste any time, do you Mr. Gambit?_

"First things first," she told him, all business, and went to fetch a pair of trousers.

* * *

Gambit wasn't sure whether he was amused or disappointed when the girl didn't try to sneak a peek up the skirts of the hospital nightshirt as she maneuvered his feet into the legs of the trousers and got the hospital slippers into place. A bit of both, perhaps, although he found himself approving of her more and more. Most girls would have hemmed and hawed before helping a total stranger into his trousers, even if he did handle the tricky bit himself once she'd got the waistband high enough for him to take hold without having to bend. And at least she'd been careful about maneuvering around the bandages on his left calf. That bullet hadn't left much more than a deep nick, but it was still sore.

Being upright and even half-dressed felt wonderful, though, after however long he'd been flat on his back in that bed. But he had things he had to remember to do, and he couldn't risk doing them while she was in the room. "Tell, you what," he said. "Why don't you go commandeer a wheelchair from the next ward over while I wash up?" He didn't want to advertise the excursion to the nurses on this ward if he could help it... For one thing, he was pretty sure at least one was a spy, and for another, Buchheim's notions of a little appropriate exercise had been sitting up in a chair for a half hour. Not that he was going to tell "Mabel" that.

She measured the distance to the loo door with her eyes and then studied him thoughtfully. "Do you need help?"

He grinned at her. "Not since I was three. Go on, Mabel-love. If I do need help I'll ring for the orderly."

While she was gone, Gambit pulled the carry-on bag out from under the blankets, and extracted the "Top Secret" envelope that he needed to protect. He considered his options, then settled on the girl's purse. Knowing that somewhere out there the spirit of John Steed was raising an eyebrow and clucking its tongue at the idea of a gentleman violating a lady's privacy, he went over to sit in her chair and reached for the bulky bag. It wasn't as though he'd made the same claim--they didn't breed gentlemen in the neighborhood where Gambit had grown up, and the merchant Navy's contribution to his vocabulary hadn't helped matters. Ah, well. Variety, and all that.

In amongst the feminine clutter in the side pocket he spotted the handkerchief with the pills and wondered if they'd be any use to the science department back home. He couldn't help but notice the thick packet nestled in next to the wallet. The insignia let him know it was the aforementioned railway tickets, and judging from its girth, his unexpected rescuer hadn't skimped. It looked as though she had covered every departure from Berlin between now and Christmas. He managed a small smile at the enthusiasm. The new girl obviously hadn't joined the ranks of the more jaded Ministry professionals, and he had the feeling she never would. She doubtless had the kind of optimistic idealism that made the best agents worth knowing. His own idealism was feeling a bit battered at the moment, but with any luck nothing would dent hers any time soon.

_I'll bet she and Steed will get along like a house afire. If they don't set fire to the house between them!_

No time for woolgathering. He needed to hide the envelope -- preferably somewhere she wasn't likely to notice its presence or accidentally come across it in the next few hours. The main section of the purse was huge, large enough to fit one of the magazines from the pile by the chair without making a lump. The magazines were all in German, which gave him a moment's pause, but the mailing labels and the battering they had taken convinced him that they had come from the hospital. He took the top one and checked. The envelope fit inside it quite neatly, and the whole thing tucked at the bottom of the main compartment was nicely hidden by makeup and hairbrush and tourist phrasebooks and pamphlets. Gambit allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. He could protect the evidence and leave the girl ignorant about it--at least until he was completely sure of her.

* * *

The same orderly that had been Purdey's embarrassed escort made a half-hearted attempt to stop them, but since they weren't actually leaving the hospital, and he was already a little leery of exactly how legal their relationship was in most countries, he let the mad English pair go. Besides, the girl had smiled at him so nicely he'd ended up giving her directions.

The cafeteria was on the fifth floor and was meant for staff, but Purdey walked in with the self-assured air of someone meant to be there, and no one seemed interested in kicking them out. She guessed that the need for substitute staff and long hours had everyone discombobulated, and was thankful for small blessings. Like the rest of the hospital, the cafeteria was slightly shabby, and had an air of hot grease and salt, but the food looked edible. Probably. Purdey parked Gambit by a table and went through the line, filling up her plate and getting Gambit a few things to substitute for the gruel. Mashed potatoes, aspic, and some goulash with mysterious gravy seemed safest -- the most porridge-like, anyway -- and Gambit didn't protest her choices. He fell on his food like it was manna, and for five minutes the only reminder she had of their situation was the way his blue eyes kept making a quick scan of the room, before returning to her or to his plate.

She was still working on her Buletten, a tasty sort of meatballs, when he settled back in his chair as if he'd taken the edge off his hunger. "I think we're safe here," he allowed softly. "As long as we don't do anything too out-of-character, I think they'll let us be, and there's no chance they'll have had time to bug the whole place. So," he took her hand in a way that wouldn't look quite so formal as a handshake to an observer, but did the job. "Let's try this again, without the covers. Mike Gambit. I haven't been Michael since school days. And for the record, I'm not usually so, er, pushy when it comes to girls, but you've probably noticed that I'm not too certain about some of the nurses they've been sending in, and it seemed the best way to get a good grip on you before you tried something."

"That's all right," Purdey replied, "I should've known better. I'm a bit new at all this."

"So you said. Training still, eh?" Purdey nodded. "I didn't think I'd seen you about. You'll pick it up. But I still don't know who you are. I can't very well go on calling you 'Mabel.' You might not mind it, but I'd just as well keep thoughts of you putting on my trousers and my dear, pajama-sending aunt separate, and I doubt ' hey you ' would go over too well."

Purdey rolled her eyes a little at that, but introduced herself nonetheless. "I'm Purdey," she told him, and waited for the inevitable question. Three, two, one.

"Just Purdey?" Gambit wanted to know, eyebrows knitted. "No miss, missus?"

"Just Purdey," she confirmed. "And I'm not married." She wasn't quite sure why she'd felt that last bit of information needing clarifying, but she could tell Gambit was pleased by it.

"Well, I won't have to worry about any jealous husbands, then. Always a good thing. Which reminds me. Another thing you should know--I usually know the girl's name before she's been on trouser duty, and it's usually going the other way, if you catch my meaning." The eyebrows waggled.

"I think I can piece that one together, thank you," Purdey told him dryly.

Gambit regarded her for a moment. "You're not like other girls, are you?"

Purdey smiled sweetly. "What tipped you off?"

"I could write a book, but there'll be time for that later. Right now we need to talk about why I'm here."

Purdey frowned. "To recover, why else?"

"And what am I recovering from?"

"Bullet wounds," Purdey answered, not understanding why Gambit was going through this. "I can see that much. Steed said he had a hunch that you must have had trouble getting back over the Wall."

"Ah yes, good old Steed and his hunches." But the tone of voice didn't match the words. Purdey could sense that Gambit was fairly ambivalent about something – whether it was Steed or the hunches she couldn't say. "And did Steed happen to mention any hunches about who was playing target practice?"

"He didn't say. But it would have been the border guards, surely." Purdey retorted, but felt herself freeze when Gambit shook his head. "Wasn't it?" she added quietly.

"The arm and the leg probably--the flesh wounds. I've got to say that those boys take their bribes seriously, and they didn't even take a potshot my way until they had to. No, if that'd been all I had to worry about, I could've patched up and flown back to London myself. But the first bullet, the one my lung took issue with? That one came from the _Western _side of the wall."

Purdey gulped. "You mean...?"

He turned his attention to the food. "Welcome to Berlin, 'just Purdey'. You've just walked straight into the sights of the man that wants me dead."

"Dead?" Purdey choked, and moved to check behind her.

"_Don't _look," Gambit hissed, taking her hand and putting it to his lips to get her attention. He hadn't managed to put a name to the face he'd recognized over in the corner, but he knew the last time he'd seen it he'd been on the other side of the Wall. "I'm fairly sure that the man who shot me's not here--at the moment, anyway. But he's got friends and we've got company. Start looking around like you think you're being watched and he'll wonder why." Purdey mentally kicked herself for an amateur's mistake. "That's better," he told her from the cover of her hand, and then seemed to realise he was still hanging on, and released it.

"Do you have any idea who it is?" Purdey queried. "And how can you be sure it's a man? We are liberated now, you know."

Gambit smiled. "And I'm all for it, especially if it means more girls like you. But I know it's a man--I'm pretty sure I got a glimpse of him once – and he's got to be a double agent. We had a chap who defected a few days back, and I've been on retrieval duty on the other side ever since. But someone tipped them off--someone who knew I was inside. Still, he made a mistake when he went after me."

"Why is that?"

"I'd picked up something, just to get a better look at it, and now I can be fairly certain that it's evidence against him." His eyes went distant and thoughtful. "Come to think of it..." he began, but didn't finish the thought.

After a moment, Purdey said, "So you have no idea who it is? The double, I mean?"

Gambit shook his head. "No, but I mean to find out, and I've a feeling if he's going to do his best to keep me from doing it. Which means," he added pointedly, "that chances are good that I can't try to leave Berlin if I don't want bullet number four to find its way to someplace they can't operate."

"But if you stay you'll be in danger, too. He'll try again," Purdey protested.

"I expect him to: that's part of the job." Gambit favored her with a cocky grin. "Still glad you signed up?"

Purdey set her jaw grimly. "I knew what I was getting into when I started. More than most. My father was in the business. He was shot as a spy, going on for nine years now." She studied the food on her plate, her shoulders tense as she waited to find out how Gambit would react.

Gambit winced, and pushed his potatoes around with his fork. "I'm sorry," he told her quietly, accepting it.

After a moment she looked up again, composed. "I've had a long time to get used to it. And he was a brave man."

Gambit smiled, a little crookedly. "Braver than I am. I can't imagine mixing this job with a wife and kids."

"No?"

He shrugged. "There'll be time enough for all that when I decide I'd rather fly a desk. Of course, it might be tricky raising six kids on a houseboat."

"Six?"

"Okay, if I get started late I might have to stop at five. Depends on the girl -- she'll have to be the right one." His eyes twinkled at her. "Want to volunteer?"

Purdey gave him the glare that deserved. "If you want six kids, you'd best get started now," she told him.

But Gambit shook his head. "Nah. It wouldn't be fair."

"Fair?" Purdey asked.

"To the wife and kids ... it's one thing to lose someone to a common danger ... step off a curb, get hit by a bus, that sort of thing. It's something else entirely to find out that they were dancing in traffic when the bus came along." His eyes were looking at something in his past, and Purdey put a hand on his.

"Your father?"

He came back to her with an effort, his eyes sad above the smile. "His ship sank before I was born. But it was a common danger, then. The war and all. Uncle Jack and Auntie Mabel took me in."

"The real Auntie Mabel?" Purdey asked, wondering what had happened to the mother he didn't mention.

"Yes." Gambit ate a little more, but his mind wasn't on the food. "I'm glad she didn't come though. There's no way she'd listen when I told her to go home."

Purdey frowned. "Wait..."

"You haven't been here long," Gambit went on, oblivious to Purdey's growing indignation. "They might let you go."

Purdey blinked. "You want to send me away?"

"I don't want your blood on my hands," Gambit told her grimly. "You're much too young to die. And much too beautiful. Forgive the cliché."

"But you can't face these people on your own. You can't walk more than a few feet without getting wobbly. And besides, there's no guarantee they'd let me go, even if I tried. No." She held up a hand to quell Gambit's protests. "You need me, Mike Gambit. You may have the training and the experience, but I can do the legwork."

Gambit glanced beneath the tabletop. "Yes, you've definitely got the legs for it," he quipped. "Very nice."

"I can also kick," she told him, "and I've a very good idea where you're most sensitive, thanks to playing dress-up earlier." She couldn't help feeling triumphant as Gambit moved his gaze rather quickly. He went back to his plate, but she had the impression that he was relieved that she had insisted on staying with him.

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?" he asked, with a hint of admiration.

"You're a fast learner," she told him. "So what's our first move?"

"First? Get out of here. Find someplace we can talk without a few extra ears around. Aunt Mabel is going to fulfill her nephew's request to get out of the hospital, and into a decent hotel somewhere. Of course, Mabel will have to take over some of the nurses' duties, but she's more than willing."

"How thoughtful of me," Purdey said in a monotone.

"You're that sort of girl. But it's not all for fun. It works in our favour," Gambit explained. "They've already seen and heard enough to convince them that you're on to Uncle John for his money, but have taken more of a liking to the nephew."

"You mean lovers?" Purdey raised an eyebrow.

"It'd even give us an excuse for creeping around. Wouldn't want uncle John to find out and cut off the finances, would we?"

"Wouldn't we?" But Purdey couldn't deny it was a good idea. And she had to admit there were worse fates than playing Gambit's other half. She still hadn't quite forgotten the effects of that kiss...

"All right. I'm game," she told him. Gambit grinned.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this assignment," he told her, and took another bite of his dinner.

She sighed. "I'll have to go back to the train station and turn in some of these tickets though. I don't have a lot of cash left."

"How many tickets did you get?" Gambit asked, not wanting Purdey to suspect his earlier prying.

"Plenty," Purdey answered promptly "Steed said to get you and get out, so I bought tickets for more than half a dozen departures, just in case. First class."

Gambit paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "First class? I can tell that you and the boys in accounting are going to be firm friends. They're still on me about that Range Rover I bought in May." He frowned a little. "No, you'd best hang onto them. Now that I've got my suitcase I've still got some cash left, and once we get clear of this damn hospital smell I'll be able to think things through. If we've got the tickets then we can change plans in a hurry. Any of them for tomorrow?"

Purdey did a quick check in her head. "Yes, three during the day. One at noon, and a couple more after that. And some go onto the next day. And I've one that leaves this evening, and a couple for trains in the wee hours. I didn't know when you'd be ready to travel, so I thought I'd try a bit of everything just in case."

"Well, Buchheim said he'd come by again before he left for the day, so we can try to get me out of here then."

Purdey crossed her arms. "You won't be ready," she said with conviction.

"Probably not," Gambit agreed cheerfully, "but if he doesn't agree it won't stop us. I never was one to follow doctor's orders. There's a hotel I know where the money problem won't matter. The owner's friendly with Steed, so it should be safe. He checks for listening devices and such. Runs a clean ship. We can settle there if we have to and lie low for a few days. We might even be able to turn the tables round on the double once I get my hands on the means to shoot back." He looked grimly pleased at the possibility. "But even if we do manage to get out of here, that doesn't mean we won't be watched, so stay in character, even if you don't see anyone suspicious; remember we're both despicable people who are playing dear old Uncle John for all he's worth."

"They do say it's more fun to play the baddie," Purdey acknowledged. "You had better finish up. I think those nurses are coming to retrieve you."

* * *

Gambit bit back a sigh as the nurses hooked him back up to the monitors. At least the new girl had managed to collect his trousers before they could be taken away for bad behavior. _Purdey._ What kind of a name was that for a girl, anyway? Then again... He watched her discreetly sliding his suitcases into protective custody under her chair. She had to bend over to do it, and that was worth watching. But her face was worth watching too, when she straightened and sent him an ironic message with one eyebrow. Beautiful, she was, and elegant, and expensive, like the gun of the same name he'd had a chance to use just the once at Steed's skeetshooting club_. I bet she kicks like it did,_ he thought, considering her long legs.

_She's smart too._ He wouldn't have thought of buying first class tickets out -- but oh, that was a good notion. He'd be able to stretch his legs out in a first class compartment. Maybe even sleep, which he wouldn't dare do in a second class coach. For a moment he toyed with the idea of going straight to the station and running for it as soon as the nurses changed shifts. Steed could send someone else in to hunt the double agent. It was a temptation. God knew he was tired. The nap he'd had earlier had barely put a dent into his weariness. But it would be faster -- and easier -- to bring out the hunter if he stuck around to be the bait. Wouldn't it? It all depended on Purdey. _Why did Steed send a tyro like her after me? Why not a pro? She's not much better than a talented amateur right now._ She was from Steed, that at least he was sure of. No one else knew about the Trusty Umbrella Fund -- that was a very private joke between Gambit and Steed, and Purdey didn't seem to understand the reference except as something she'd been told to use as a password.

_He's probably riding his instincts again._ Steed had a habit of doing that -- acting on what his gut told him and not the evidence, heeding those unexplainable, indescribable hunches that often saved an agent's life -- and the most frustrating thing about it was that he made an annoying habit of being right. And it had to be admitted that Steed had had good luck with talented amateurs in the past. _At least he sent a __**pretty**__ girl._

Gambit closed his eyes, nodding at the admonitions of the nurses and wishing them a hearty trip to hell. They'd got him into bed, hadn't they? Now if it were Purdey fussing over him, that might be tolerable. One of them was giving her grief too, telling her that visiting hours were over, but even without opening his eyes he could tell that Purdey was digging in her heels. A sudden pinprick in his arm told him that he'd gotten careless. "Damn!" He looked and found that the redheaded one had managed to get a hypodermic into him. Acting on pure instinct, he threw a punch that caught the edge of her jaw. She yelped in surprise, falling backwards onto the floor, as Gambit yanked the needle out of his arm and gave it a quick sniff. Morphine – and something else. Gambit muttered a few words that would've made the nurses blush if they hadn't been so busy running around frantically, tending to the fallen nurse, shouting for the doctor, and laying restraining hands on him. The redhead was rubbing her jaw and fixing him with a poisonous stare. Out of the confusion, Purdey suddenly materialised beside him, and he couldn't understand why she looked so pained.

"Needle," he told her, safe in the knowledge that all the noise would drown out their voices. "She's drugged me."

Purdey looked a little less upset at that, but something was still on her mind. "Did you have to hit her?"

Gambit paled slightly, taking in the drawn features. He'd forgotten how new she was, that any violence she'd encountered had been within the confines of a training room with friends you took out to the pub afterward when you bested them in a bout. But this wasn't training. He knew Steed had reservations about using force with ladies, and it wasn't as if Gambit was a big advocate of it either. But sometimes you just had to do what worked. "Yes," he said finally, having worked through the growing fog to an answer. "Otherwise she'd have pumped me with enough of the stuff to keep me comatose 'til next week. She's got plans, and I don't want to hang around to find out what they are." Purdey nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from sitting up.

"She won't get past me," Purdey assured him, "but if that was morphine, you won't be able to go much of anywhere in a minute."

Gambit's senses were dulling. He managed to find Purdey's hand--or she found his, it was hard to tell--held onto it like the salvation it was. "Don't leave me," he told her.

Purdey smiled. "Never. Now I'm here, you're stuck with me."

"Good," he managed just as Dr. Buchheim entered.

The doctor viewed the confusion with a critical eye.

_"What is going on?"_ He caught sight of the red-headed nurse, now being helped to her feet by her colleagues.

_"He hit me, Herr Doctor,"_ she accused, pointing at Gambit, who was struggling to stay awake.

"_Damn straight,"_ Gambit growled. _"Go around sticking people with bloody needles when they're not looking..."_

"Michael," Purdey cut in, in such perfectly chiding tones that Gambit stared at her along with everyone else in the room. She patted his shoulder and addressed Dr. Buchheim, radiating an air of assured authority that the real Aunt Mabel would have envied. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm afraid that the situation is starting to get to my nephew. All the excitement, the shooting. The nurse startled him and he lashed out. I'm sure that once he's himself he'll be quite sorry for any damage he might have done."

"I see," the doctor said with a raised eyebrow. "That is to be expected, I suppose, after such an ordeal. The mind takes time to catch up with the body."

Purdey nodded in agreement. "Yes, and Ste...My husband's brother, Stephen, he told me Michael's had a bad experience in a hospital before. That's why John sent me to take him home. If you don't mind, doctor, I'd like to stay on for the night. I know visiting hours are over, but poor Michael seems calmer with me around, and I promised my husband I'd look after him." Doctor Buchheim tried to respond, but Purdey was on a roll, and Gambit listened with hazy admiration to the way she spun out the lie. "I've gotten a good deal experience in nursing, taking care of John with his pneumonia and all. And you are understaffed aren't you? If his condition changed, I'd be certain to call someone. I wouldn't want to put Michael's life in danger. But I really can look after him." She shifted her grip, took hold of Gambit's wrist. He could feel her fingers seek out a pulse. "See?" she persisted, like a six-year-old asking for her parents to watch her jump off the high-dive.

Doctor Buchheim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Distantly, Gambit heard the man ask Purdey some medically pertinent questions, which she answered quite satisfactorily. At least it seemed that way. It was getting hard to concentrate.

The doctor looked to the other nurses, who nodded reluctantly. Gambit _had _calmed down with Purdey by his side, and the young woman was fixing him with a wide-eyed stare that could sway even the most determined rule-enforcer. He sighed. "Very well, Mrs. Horrocks. You may stay tonight. But I must insist that you find a hotel and get some rest tomorrow, for the sake of yourself and the patient. Am I understood?"

"Yes, thank you," Purdey said gratefully, curving her arms around Gambit once more. "Did you hear that, Michael?"

But Gambit only sighed and closed his eyes, the drug finally taking more from him than he had to give. As a result he didn't see Dr. Buchheim shoo the nurses out of the room, a slight smile on his face as he observed his patient falling asleep in Purdey's embrace.


	2. A Little Night Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berlin

****

Berlin

Chapter 2: A Little Night Music

by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel

Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.

_Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+ Image and The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink __(though you can see it at_ http://docs.google.com/View?docID=d4pccjp_215hr7t95 if you're curious.)_ It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play..._

* * *

Purdey waited until all the nurses had vacated the premises before easing Gambit carefully back onto the pillows and out of her arms. Not a moment too soon, she mused, as she rubbed her sore shoulder. Gambit limp was an awful lot of dead weight, too much for someone with four inches and who knew how many stones fewer than he had. She watched him sleep for a moment, smiling at the still-blissful expression on his face. It may have been her imagination, but Gambit looked much more serene when he slept this time around, as though he were finally certain he was no longer alone, that someone was watching out for him for a change. Purdey didn't plan on disappointing him.

Purdey looked to the chair, was at the point of resigning herself to another session of benchwarming when Gambit muttered, "Fourteen hours delay," the words soft, but as clear as a bell. Purdey shook his shoulder gently, hoping that would remind him not to talk, but he was beyond rousing. "The messages are..." he went on, and she covered his mouth with her hand hastily to muffle the rest of the sentence.

"Hush, Michael," she said for the concealed microphones. "You need to sleep now."

But it was no use. Perhaps truth drug _had _been added into the syringe, to increase the chances of him saying something. He kept on mumbling, and only her hand prevented the words from being comprehensible. Whatever the reason for it, though, she had to try to keep him from compromising any important secrets while he rambled. She found that the technique that worked best was covering his mouth and trying to keep his jaw from moving very much. Some of what he seemed to want to tell the world didn't sound as if it could be "intel", not from the persuasive tone which was all that she could understand, but she didn't dare take any risks.

It was awkward, standing there, a handkerchief ready so she could pretend to be mopping his brow or something like that if a nurse should happen to peek in, and for all that she'd spent far too many hours sitting in one day, the standing wasn't making her feel any less stiff or cramped. She envied Gambit his bed, someplace to lie and stretch out the knots. She did the best she could to glean some relief, moving her feet through the positions, trusting the bulk of the bed to hide that much from any nosy visitor, but what she really longed for was her barre and a good long session of stretches. She didn't even dare do a few pliés. She'd no idea what kind of information the nurses might be passing along about "Mabel Horrocks", but ballet moves would be distinctive enough to attract attention, and she doubted that any check would turn up notable patrons of the arts in Gambit's family.

The sky outside the window was dark by the time that he finally quieted down, and Purdey tentatively took her hand away and shook it to restore circulation. The chair was going to be a welcome change, and she'd have a chance to actually try to read the articles in her magazines, although she didn't see the one she'd had on top of the pile anywhere. Of course the pile of magazines had been scattered when the nurse had fallen, so maybe someone had picked it up. Pity. She'd actually been looking forward to delving into that issue of _Brigitte_ for more information about the pictures on the pages she'd dog-eared.

"I hope you're finally settled," she told Gambit, as she brushed the hair off his forehead. "Auntie's getting tired."

"Auntie?" Gambit echoed, but his voice sounded much less forceful, as though twenty-five years had been stripped from it.

"Yes," she told him, hoping confirmation was all he sought. "Aunt Mabel's here."

"And Mum?"

Purdey blinked. _Mum?_ "I'm afraid not," she replied, hoping that Gambit wouldn't pursue the matter. "Although she wanted to be, I'm sure."

"She's not better?" Gambit sounded disappointed, heart-breakingly so. And _young._

Purdey sucked air in through her teeth, wincing involuntarily at the way his mouth was tugging downwards on the sides, knowing she was well and truly out of her league. On the one hand, telling him his mother was fine might quiet him down, and at least give him a chance at a blissful sleep. On the other, the lie could backfire and lead to more talking, maybe even asking for her. Purdey could pose as Auntie Mabel well enough, but she guessed that her impression of Mrs. Gambit wouldn't fool anyone, not even an unconscious man. Not to mention the fact that the listeners might find it a bit odd that 'Mabel' was clueless about her sister-in-law, to the point of not even knowing her name. She decided on ambiguity. "I...don't know."

"My fault," Gambit muttered. "I shouldn't have..." He didn't finish the thought, but Purdey felt herself being drawn into the strange conversation. Gambit had avoided mentioning his mother during dinner. Had she been the one who had danced in traffic? The mystery dangled in front of Purdey, begging to be solved. Gambit was as much of an enigma as anyone she'd met in the department. If she pushed, there was a chance she could glean more than a few scraps about his past.

Of course if she did, she would be overstepping several personal and professional boundaries in the process. She bit her lip, considering the temptation. Curiosity was what had got her into this job in the first place, after all.

"You're not mad, are you? You and Gran? I didn't mean it..."

"I'm sure you didn't," Purdey assured him hastily, realising from his plaintive tone that she'd let this go on for far too long. This was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong way to shake information out of the man. And it was sure as hell not a good idea to let any listeners find out enough about his childhood to use as a handle against him later. "No one's mad at you. So try not to think about it. Just sleep. Auntie Mabel's going to sing you a lullaby, all right?" Maybe singing would drown out anything else he might say. As long as she could think of something to sing...

* * *

Gambit felt himself slowly regaining consciousness, as though exiting a dark tunnel. Someone was shaking him vigourously. He tried to wave them away. He wanted to sleep, to let his battered body rest, but the shaking wouldn't stop. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked until Purdey's lovely face came into focus. She put a finger to his lips before he could say anything, and held up a scrap of paper with a feminine script scrawled across it. He squinted and read it.

"We're getting out. Ready for trouser-duty."

Gambit grinned as Purdey held up the garment. She had a whole outfit laid out, complete with the pair of leather boots that some kind soul must have salvaged from the ruins of his clothing when he was brought into the hospital. He pulled away the wires as Purdey pushed back the blankets.

It took Purdey several minutes to get Gambit up and fully-dressed, and she was a bundle of nerves the whole time, constantly looking over her shoulder. He didn't dare ask her what was wrong, and he didn't think his hands were steady enough for note writing. The Novocain had worn off, and he could feel the hole in his chest again, but the morphine wasn't entirely faded, and the pain was distant enough that he didn't quite care about it. But it was there, and he knew from experience it would get worse. Best to move while he still could.

Outside the room, Purdey had parked a wheelchair, and Gambit sat down without protest, and let her pile the suitcases onto his lap. Purdey pushed him along the corridor, and through a double door and into the next ward. There was a door at the far end, but the light from numerous doors spilt out into their path. Purdey pushed the chair as quietly as possible, peering into each room and darting past when it was clear. Mercifully, they weren't seen by any of the nurses, most of whom were having coffee in their break area, and complaining about having the night shift. Once they'd passed through another set of double doors and into a long empty hall, Gambit asked. "What time is it?" The words came out in a kind of croak, and he swallowed and tried to get the saliva flowing in his mouth to compensate.

"Two in the morning." Purdey's shoulders were tense, like she was waiting for the roof to cave in. "We're going to get clear of this hospital while we've got the chance."

"Why? Did I talk?" His throat was dry enough, that was certain.

"You muttered -- and sang a few show tunes," she added with a brief grin. "But I don't think anyone could understand the muttering. I couldn't, and I was right next to you."

"Show tunes?" he repeated, wondering if he were still caught up in one of the morphine dreams.

"I got tired of holding my hand over your mouth to muffle the mumbling and tried singing to drown you out instead. You sang back. Do you know every song Fred Astaire ever sang?" She was beginning to relax, now that it seemed that no one was following them.

"Most of them," he answered, staring at her. _Showtunes?_

"Anyway," she said, circling back to the topic at hand. "You didn't say anything that mattered, and no one could have understood you if you did."

"Then why...?"

"Because I heard one of the nurses talking on the phone at the nurses' station. They were going to kidnap both of us."

"Did you leave me? Alone?" He couldn't help feeling alarmed.

"Just the once -- and you'd quieted down by then. But I needed something to keep me awake and luckily I didn't want any of the coffee the night nurse brought me so I went to look for a cola." She frowned. "No, it was twice. I went out again to pour the drugged coffee back into the pot and get the wheelchair. But I didn't go very long or very far. I would have seen if someone had tried to go into the room with you."

Gambit grasped her hand. It sounded to him like she'd done the only thing she could do, done it alone, and without hesitating for a moment. "Remind me to thank Steed for sending you."

"Let's see if I can get you safe first. I didn't want to risk taking you down the passenger lift we took to the cafeteria, but," she turned a corner and sighed with relief. "I saw this cargo lift on the fire escape map."

"Cargo, am I?" Gambit quipped. He shifted his grip on the suitcases. "That's a good idea."

"I hope so," Purdey said, pushing the call button. "I've got no idea where it comes out. There could be a dozen people there on the main floor."

The lift arrived and the doors slid open. She pushed the chair in and reached for the ground floor button, but Gambit forestalled her. "Try the basement, instead."

"The basement?"

"Who's in a basement this time of night? Nothing down there but laundry, kitchens, storage rooms. And if this is a cargo lift, it ought to be near a loading dock. Some place we can get out." He pressed tentatively at the bandages on his chest. Not too bad. "I can even climb back up one flight if I have to."

* * *

He did have to go up a few stairs, in the event, which meant leaving the wheelchair behind, but at last Purdey got him safely tucked into a corner, a recess in the brickwork where a wing had been added on to the original building. He sat on her suitcase and took huge gulps of the cool night air.

"Will you be all right while I go fetch a cab?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Take neither the first..."

"Nor the second which may present itself. I remember, Sherlock," she wrinkled her nose at him, but she was smiling, delighted to find yet another point they had in common. Philosophy was all very fine and well, but Sherlock Holmes was more fun.

"Wait." He pulled his own suitcase onto his knees and opened it, searching by feel until he came up with a bundle of paper. "Give me your purse."

She handed it over, not quite sure why he wanted it, and he thrust the bundle inside. He felt around for something too -- something he was glad to find by the relief that was visible on his face in the dim light -- and then passed the purse back. "Okay, that's my passport, my notes for Steed, and every deutschmark I've got left, so try not to lose it. If something goes wrong and I'm not waiting here, you run like hell for home, all right?"

"Nothing's going to go wrong," she promised him, handing him her hat. "Hold onto this for me. I'll be right back." She pulled the strap of the purse over her head, so that it would stay snug against her chest where no pickpocket could reach it, and took off running. There was a major street three blocks down -- she'd passed it every time she'd been in a cab so far -- and an elegant hotel two blocks over. If she'd find a cab anywhere this time of night, it would be there.

* * *

It occurred to Gambit, as he watched Purdey taking off down the street like a young deer, that he'd burned his bridges. If Purdey wasn't who she claimed to be then he'd played right into her hands – practically kidnapped himself and then gone and given her all the evidence he had against the double. But he wanted to trust her. _Needed _to trust her.

He toyed with the idea of going back inside the hospital long enough for her to give up looking for him. She'd be safe enough on a plane back to London, especially if he led any pursuit off. But before he could make up his mind to do it she came back with the cab, as promised. Purdey spilled out of it, her white dress gleaming under the light of the streetlamp across the way. In moments she had eased Gambit up onto his feet, and manhandled him and the luggage into the back seat of the cab. "_Bahnhof Zoo,_ _"_ she told the driver, and he took off.

"Is there a train this time of night?" Gambit asked her.

"Yes, to Frankfurt in twenty minutes if we can make it." She rearranged the suitcases so that they weren't banging their knees on them, which meant scooting closer to Gambit to make room beside her and piling them next to the window on her side. He didn't mind that in the least, and reached out an arm to tuck Purdey closer, over to where she could put her head on his shoulder. She did so happily, her breathing slowing as the adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. They made the trip in silence.

Gambit realized, eventually, that the driver was frowning at the rear view mirror. "_What's wrong?"_ he asked in German.

_"The lady, she said you did not want to be followed, yes?"_ the driver answered, hesitantly.

_"Yes."_

_"Well, there is a motorcycle behind us. It turns when we do."_

_Damn._ Gambit tried to think. "Mabel-love, it looks like we'll miss that train."

"Bother," she grumbled sleepily. "What about that hotel you mentioned? Could we go there instead?"

"That's a thought. But it would be best if we could lose the tail." He could think of one way, but it was going to be bloody uncomfortable. To the driver he said, "Please take our luggage to Kellerstrasse 68, but drop us at the train station."

"Yes, sir."

"Purdey give me my passport. And we'll need the cabfare now." She yawned as she complied, and he wondered how long she'd been on her feet. They'd both end up "out" at the same time at this rate, and that wouldn't work, but if they could only get to Liebermann's first they might survive it. _First lose the tail._ The station was coming up. "Ready?" he asked Purdey.

"Yes. What am I ready for?"

He grinned. "We're going to go into the station, and then go out the other side. If we do it smoothly enough, our tail will be busy trying to find us on the platform instead of checking the other cabstand."

"That's a good plan," she said. "Except I don't think we have enough cash to pay another cabfare. Unless you think he'll take a cheque."

"Don't worry about it," Gambit told her, already steeling himself for what would undoubtedly be a tough journey. "We can pay once we get to the hotel. But hang on tight to your purse. This isn't a good neighborhood this time of night."

* * *

They arrived at the train station, and Gambit struggled out of the vehicle, while Purdey paid the driver. She tipped him as much as she could, hoping that would guarantee the safe arrival of the luggage. He nodded to her before driving off, but he seemed excited and pleased instead of wary, and she hoped that was a good sign. In the distance, she could hear the throaty roar of the motorcycle. She got an arm around Gambit's waist, tense with anticipation. Who knew if bullets were about to start flying?

"Come on," Gambit murmured as they got inside. "Let's give our friend on the bike something else to chase." He started off toward the platform, and Purdey struggled to keep up with his long stride. Even injured, the man could move when he put his mind to it. He was obviously running on pure adrenaline, pushing the pain and fatigue into the background, but for the first time she realised just how tall and lithe he actually was. She bet he could keep pace with her easily, maybe even outrun her, when he was healed up. That was no small feat-- Purdey had been known to outrun pretty much anyone who dared to race her, and she had a handful of trophies from school sports days to prove it. Now she was struggling to keep up as Gambit made his way through the station, unexpectedly changing course to take advantage of the cover offered by the building. It wasn't as if there were a lot of people at the station at this time of the morning, so there was no chance of fading into the crowd, and neither one of them could pass for one of the young runaways who were panhandling or propositioning the passersby. Gambit ducked behind a pillar and leaned against it thankfully, pulling Purdey into a tight embrace. "Over my shoulder," he instructed, puffing a bit from the exertion. "Take a look. Is he still after us?"

Purdey regarded Gambit's shoulder with mild dismay. "I'm not used to being outdone in the height department," she muttered, realising for the first time that she actually had to look up to see his face. Even her dangerously high heels lost some of their impact competing with Gambit's boots.

"Well, I can't pick you up, not in the kind of shape I'm in. And it'd be a bit obvious, too."

"No, I can manage," Purdey assured him, and took a deep breath, closed her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she raised herself onto her points, just as she had been taught all those years ago. Gambit's face got a little closer, and she peeked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was the biker, helmet still on, concealing his face as he made his way through the station, head turning as he scanned the area. They were safe for the moment--he hadn't spotted them behind the pillar. "He's here," Purdey told Gambit, "but he's still looking. He's gone over behind the newsstand now." Purdey lowered herself down again, and looked to Gambit, who was regarding her with something like admiration.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?"

Purdey smiled nonchalantly. "Royal Ballet," she explained, and felt a bit of smug gratification at the way his eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Hooray for the arts," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But I thought dancers who made career changes were a bit closer to mid-life than you. You're only what, 26?"

"27, actually. And I didn't quit so much as they threw me out."

"What on earth for?"

Purdey shrugged. "Too tall." It was as good an explanation as any, and mostly true. The choreographers had never been quite sure where to put her in the line after that last growth spurt.

"As far as I'm concerned you're the perfect height." Gambit used his hand to tip up her chin so that her mouth could meet his own. Purdey, whose mind had been on their pursuer, felt her eyes open wide in surprise, partly at the unexpected action, partly at Gambit's gall at taking their cover and milking it for all it was worth. But after a moment, she felt her eyes slide closed and she started to actually enjoy herself. It was a pity Gambit chose that moment to break away. He cast a brief glance over his own shoulder. "Now the good news is, we've got platform tickets and he doesn't, so when we make for the platform he's either going to have to stop and buy one at the wicket or raise a fuss that the authorities will notice."

"Platform tickets?" Purdey asked.

"The little red cardboard things in the ticket folder. They use them here at the Zoo to keep the runaways from sneaking onto the trains." He saw Purdey's mouth open in surprise, and he remembered that she still didn't know about his earlier bit of snooping. "I took a tour of your purse back at the hospital. Strictly business," he added to Purdey's narrowing eyes.

"I'm not even going to try to guess what you were hoping to find," she said, dryly. "Is suspicion a requirement of the business?"

"Always. It's a survival trait," he grinned. "Glad you've joined up? Now, give me one of the platform tickets. You're going to go first and I'll follow. Whatever you do, don't turn round; don't give him any reason to think you've spotted him."

Purdey blanched. "We're just going to walk right into his line of fire? And you're going to go without assistance? Are you mad? He's already used a gun on you once. He'll do it again."

"Not here," Gambit said confidently. "Too many people about. And even if he does, it's me he'll be aiming for, and I'll do my best to cover you." He gestured vaguely at his bandages. "May as well add to the collection."

"That's not very comforting," Purdey snapped. "I don't want you to go suicidal."

Gambit grasped her upper arms gently, so that she couldn't help but look him in the eye. "Purdey," he told her seriously, "I need you to trust me on this. I told you I don't want to have your blood on my hands, and I meant it. But this isn't just about you or me. There'll be a lot more agents in danger if you don't manage to get back to Steed." He tapped on her purse. "In here is a magazine, and in that magazine is an envelope, and in that envelope there's a photograph and on that photograph there are _fingerprints_. Evidence," he told her somberly, "against the double. Now, when we go out there, if he does start firing, I want you to run for it. Get away, go to the airport, fly home. Don't stop for me. Don't even look back. Not if you hear me cry out. Not even if he threatens to kill me. I want both you and that envelope safely away. Do you understand?"

Purdey could feel tears lurking, but she blinked them back. She wouldn't admit it, but she was frightened. She was new. She didn't know what to do without Gambit. And for other reasons -- the thought of leaving him behind was more than she could bear, even if she'd known the man for less than 24 hours.

"That's what the kiss was for," she grumbled, tightening the strap of her purse. "So I'd listen to you."

Gambit grinned. "No, that was to get _me_ to the platform. I could exercise seniority, but I'd much rather you'd listen to me as a partner, not because I've ordered you." The grin faded. "Please, Purdey. We don't have much time."

Purdey squared her shoulders and straightened her hat. "All right, Mike Gambit, but I won't like it."

"I'm not asking you to, but at least we're past Michael." He risked another glance. "Now go. I'll be right behind you."

Purdey swallowed hard, and made for the platform. She managed a strained smile for the conductor as she dug in her bag and extracted the tickets. She resisted the urge to check for Gambit's presence behind her. Her nerves were raw by the time she made it through the queue and handed over the scrap of pasteboard that would let her onto the platform. "_Enjoy your trip,"_ the attendant said in German that betrayed his sleepiness as she passed. Purdey nodded nervously, and then almost collapsed in relief when she heard Gambit's voice reply in the same language.

_"A friend of ours planned to see us off. If he should come looking for us, could you kindly let him know we'll be in cabin number five?"_

The man looked at his watch_. "He'll have to hurry. The train leaves soon. But I will pass on the message."_

_"Thanks,"_ Gambit said, and took Purdey's arm.

"Why did you tell him that? Do you want to be caught?" she hissed when they were out of hearing range. "And our ticket was for cabin eight."

Gambit grinned and shooed her up the stairs onto the train. "Right. But cabin five is occupied. I heard a couple that went on ahead being directed that way." Purdey frowned, but followed Gambit down the corridor to cabin five. He stepped inside, and ushered Purdey in. Inside, a surprised-looking young German couple gaped at them. _"Excuse me,"_ Gambit said, _"but do you mind if I draw the curtains?"_ He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped over to the window, and started on the task. "Purdey, give me a hand, and make sure that you can be seen through the window before you finish." Purdey complied, wondering if Gambit had lost his mind. He was already heading back toward the door_. "Sorry for the intrusion,"_ he told the baffled couple. _"Just keep those down until the train starts moving. Thanks._ Come on, Purdey. Let's not overstay our welcome." Purdey flashed the pair a smile, and quit the room with her colleague.

"What was that about?" she asked. Gambit was already heading for the far end of the carriage.

"A small diversion for our friend on the bike," he explained. "He should have seen us in the same cabin he got told by the conductor. By the time he realises we've given him the slip, the train'll be moving, and we'll be gone. Now," he indicated the door, "we're going to get out the other side of the train onto the opposite platform. The doors on these things seal once it starts moving, so if our friend has made it onboard, he won't be able to get off again. Not before we're long gone, anyway. Come on."

They had to pick the lock to open the door on the "wrong" side of the train in order to get off, but Gambit managed the trick with an ease that Purdey promised herself she'd acquire as soon as possible. The steps down only went to platform height, which meant a fair drop to the ground, but with a little help from Purdey, Gambit managed it. The train began to pull away just as they reached the far side of the tracks and the steps that led back up to the platform level. As they watched it go, they paused to collect themselves. Gambit flashed a rude salute at a glimpse of helmet in one of the windows, but other than that Purdey thought that his attention was starting to wander. She put herself under his good arm and steered him at the exit, determined not to puff. It was hard work, but she managed to keep him upright, and when they reached the cabstand she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled for all she was worth.

A cab appeared almost immediately. Once they were both inside it, Gambit sank back in the seat and closed his eyes, pale in the light from the overhead dome. "I'm afraid I overdid it, Purdey-girl. You'll have to get us the rest of the way." Despite the obvious fatigue, he looked quite content, and the nickname slipped from his lips without art or guile, or even the faint air of patronization from the expert to the novice. Purdey regarded the closed eyes thoughtfully. She wasn't sure, but she had the feeling she'd passed some sort of test. She wasn't just playing Auntie Mabel anymore. He trusted her.

"No problem," Purdey assured him, with a slight smile, and gave the address of the hotel to the driver.

* * *

Purdey kept an eye out the back window of the cab, but no one followed them, and by the time the cab turned into a wide quiet street and pulled up to the curb she was almost ready to believe that they'd lost their tail for good.

The hotel was older than most of the buildings nearby -- at a guess it had been built in the Twenties or earlier, and some of the Art Deco touches in the architecture had survived war and restoration. The name on the transom was "Der Blaue Adler" -- the Blue Eagle, Purdey translated to herself. A family hotel, she guessed. Twenty or thirty rooms at the most, unless the matching awnings on the more modern building next door meant that they'd expanded. It looked very nice.

Gambit, on the other hand, was looking more than a little worse for wear. "You shouldn't have pushed it," Purdey scolded, as she pried the man out of the cab. "All that running around was too much."

"No choice," Gambit pointed out, putting as much weight as he dared on Purdey's shoulder. "I'll be fine once I've had a few hours sleep."

Purdey sighed, and helped him to the lobby. It had a red and gold motif, and Purdey had just maneuvered Gambit into a plush chair when a man approached them from behind the reception desk.

"Herr Gambit," he said, his enthusiasm dampened by the concern in his eyes. "I thought you had left us for home."

"Best laid plans," Gambit replied shortly, nursing his side. "I hope you've got room."

"For you, always. And you've brought a friend," the man went on, turning to Purdey.

Gambit made the introductions, forcing himself to focus on what still needed to be done. "Purdey, Josef Liebermann. He owns the place, and he's been on our side ever since Steed gave him a bit of a hand during the war."

"A pleasure, Fräulein," Liebermann replied, kissing Purdey's hand.

"Likewise, I'm sure." Purdey smiled radiantly. "Seems as though everyone in this business has a connection to Steed."

"If they have any sense," Liebermann agreed. "But I forget myself. How may I be of service?"

"The cabbie outside needs paying," Gambit told him. "We're a bit short on marks at the moment, but if you could add it to the bill...?"

"Yes, of course. I will attend to it immediately, and then see about the two rooms."

"One," Gambit corrected, and Liebermann raised an eyebrow. "Certain people think Purdey's my dear Aunt Mabel, Uncle John's trophy wife who's having a little on the side. We need to keep them thinking that way in case we're tracked down again."

"Ah," Liebermann replied, although he didn't sound very sanguine about the idea. "I will be sure to remember that if anyone inquires. Now, I think the cab driver is becoming impatient." He headed out into the night, leaving Purdey to tend to Gambit.

"Here." She produced a handkerchief, and blotted the beading sweat off his brow. "That's better. Are you going to be all right?"

"Fine." His smile was distinctly lopsided, now. "Just need some sleep."

Liebermann returned. "I tipped him generously. I hope you do not mind?"

Gambit waved it off. "Fine. Money's the least of our troubles."

"I presume it is your baggage which was delivered earlier. _That_ cab driver seemed to think you were rejects from a spy movie. He kept looking over his shoulder."

"Yes, those are ours," Gambit confirmed. "Do you think he'll talk?"

"I doubt he himself knows what transpired. But now, I can see you are tired. I will take you up to your room." He went to the desk and fetched a key. "The paperwork can wait until you are rested."

He led Purdey and the listing Gambit to a lift, and took them up to the top floor. Guiding them down a corridor, he opened the door to a spacious room. "Honeymoon suite," he explained. "It isn't in use, and it will work best for your, ah, cover."

"And me too battered to carry you over the threshold, Purdey-girl," Gambit lamented.

"Some other time," Purdey grumbled under the strain of keeping him upright.

Liebermann brought in the suitcases and deposited them on the stand near the closet, and then stayed, pointing out small amenities to Purdey while Gambit made a visit to the bathroom. Purdey was grateful -- when Gambit came out again his eyes were glazing over, and he was listing like a ship in a gale wind. Liebermann caught his arm and guided him over to the oversized bed. Purdey pulled back the covers and between them they settled the injured man, depriving him of his jacket, tie and boots. "I don't think you'll stay awake long enough to get into pajamas," Purdey said.

"Don't have any anyway," Gambit murmured. "Josef... thanks."

"Not a problem," Liebermann insisted, and turned to Purdey. "There is no need to come downstairs -- I will sign you in if you will give me the spelling for the name. And if you need anything, anything at all, please let me know."

Purdey printed out "Mabel Horrocks" for him on a piece of hotel stationery and exchanged it for the key, and then walked the hotelier to the door to thank him again before she locked it behind him. When she turned to look back at Gambit his face had gone slack again, and she thought he must already be sleeping.

She tugged the covers up over him and then took her own turn in the bathroom, using the cellophane wrapped toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste that Liebermann had promised she'd find waiting there. The shower tempted her, but not enough to override her own sleepiness, or her dislike of dealing with hair that had been slept on while it was wet.

She was seeking out extra bedclothes to make up the couch into a bed when she heard the voice, thick with sleep.

"What're you looking for?"

"Blankets," she explained. "I'm going to sleep over here."

"Don't need to do that," he muttered. "'S lots of room on the bed."

Purdey turned and raised an eyebrow. "That's only an act, remember?"

He opened one eye and smiled blearily. "Nothing wrong with a little authenticity, and it's not as though I've even got the energy to try anything--in my clothes on top of it. But this bed's huge, and you can make for the other end, build a pillow barrier, wrap up in your duvet, whatever. S'gotta be more comfortable. That couch is too short."

Purdey considered for a moment. Gambit had a point. "Oh, all right," she relented, and went over to crawl in, toeing off her shoes at long last. She curled up next to Gambit, and let the exhaustion start pulling her under.

"What, no pillows?" He yawned the question.

"No need. I trust you."

"Do you?" And there was a different edge to his voice. "Do you?" And then he was asleep.

* * *

Purdey was wakened by a hand that wasn't hers curling familiarly around an area of her anatomy where it hadn't been invited. She shifted position to get clear of the unwelcome heat more than anything else, not bothering to open her eyes until memory nudged at her and she remembered where, and when, she was.

_So much for trust!_ she thought, but the dim light from the windows showed her that Gambit was out like a light -- hadn't shifted much at all from his original position on the pillow. If she'd got into cuddling range it was her own fault. She snorted and picked up his hand, meaning to tuck it back where it had started before she built up the pillow barrier he'd mentioned earlier. But his hand was hot in hers. Too hot. She felt for the pulse and found it racing along -- too quickly, she thought, comparing it to her own.

"Gambit?" She touched his face and found it just as hot as his hand, or worse. "Gambit? Can you hear me?"

"Mmm," he murmured in response to a light tap on the cheek, but he didn't open his eyes.

Purdey swore. Just the one word, to get it over with so she could think. There was no use in wishing that she'd kept Gambit at the hospital, where the doctor could deal with complications. He was here now and definitely feverish, but the important question was how feverish, and she had no way of knowing. Hotel medicine chests didn't run to thermometers, at least not in her experience. But still -- as small as The Blue Eagle was, it was a hotel. There was probably someone downstairs who could tell her where the nearest druggist could be found.

She got out of bed and spread her duvet over his, and then added the coverlet for good measure, pulling the lot up to Gambit's chin, with the vague memory of reading about "sweating the fever out" in children's books nudging the back of her mind. Aspirin would be more certain to work, no doubt, but much to her frustration a quick rummage through her purse proved that she didn't have so much as a single Midol. She started making herself a mental list. Aspirin, a thermometer, rubbing alcohol, cool drinks to keep him from becoming dehydrated, icepacks if the fever was very high... But she couldn't leave him without doing _something_ first. She turned on the bathroom light and found a washcloth, dousing it in cold water for a fever rag.

Gambit shuddered a little when she put it on his forehead and opened dull eyes for a moment to identify her before letting them close again. She rearranged the cloth so it wouldn't drip into his ears. "It's all right. You're just too hot. I'm going to go and get some things to help bring down the fever," she told him in a low, soft voice in case he was asleep again. But his hand came out from under the blankets, catching hold of her sleeve, wordlessly importuning her to stay. She bit her lip and tried to think.

It took her a moment to realize that the telephone was within reach. She picked up the receiver and waited for the switchboard to notice.

_"Reception desk,"_ the voice was young and female, and speaking German. Purdey gathered her wits quickly.

_"Is Herr Liebermann there?"_

_"My father has gone to bed. May I be of help?"_

Purdey had no idea whether or not Liebermann's daughter would have been informed of the masquerade, and she didn't want to take chances. She switched to English, hoping it would be understood. "My name is Mrs. Horrocks. My nephew has been injured and he is running a fever. You understand?"

"Yes. I understand. You wish me to call the doctor?"

"No... I don't think it's that bad; I can nurse him. But I need some things. A thermometer, aspirin, rubbing alcohol. Icepacks, perhaps, and something cool to drink. Can you send for them and add it to our room bill? I don't want to leave him."

"The chemist is not there this time of night, but my father has such things to lend. I will bring them to you."

"Oh, thank you."

"A few minutes only," the other woman assured her and rang off.

Purdey sighed with relief. "Well, at least I won't have to go out again." She peered at the bedside clock. "Four-thirty in the morning. That means I've had exactly 72 minutes of sleep since I woke up yesterday," she told Gambit. "And I've spent most of the time I've been awake watching you sleeping. It's really not fair."

He made a noise, but she wasn't sure it was an actual comment. His eyes didn't open.

"I mean, we could have been discussing philosophy, or talking about old movies, or contemplating great works of art, couldn't we? If only you had a bit more stamina." That wasn't fair and she knew it the moment it came out of her mouth; Gambit had done more than any man with three bulletholes in him should have been asked to do, but then again she was only blethering to pass the time until she could do something. "We could have been inventing stories about your Uncle John. Though I'm sure that nothing we came up with would touch the real thing for adventure."

A soft tap on the door told her that the receptionist had arrived. "Now remember," she whispered hastily. "I'm Mabel, your Uncle John's wife. And if you can't remember, try not to talk." She hoped he'd heard her. He didn't seem to be completely unconscious -- not from the amount of effort it took to loosen her sleeve from his grasp.

When she opened the door a woman about her own age was standing there -- dark haired, with deep green eyes that met her own with a smile. "Here you are, Mrs. Horrocks. I have the other things, but only two aspirins, I am afraid. We will send for more when the shops open and I hope that will be enough for your neph..." she looked past Purdey to the bed, and the green eyes widened abruptly. "Mike?"

Before Purdey could stop her she'd come into the room and crossed to the bed, setting her tray of medical oddments on the nightstand as she sat down beside Gambit. "Mike?" she said again and switched into German. _"It is Margot, Margot Liebermann. What has happened to you?"_

His eyes fluttered open for a long moment and he smiled at the intruder in a way that made it abundantly clear that he knew her very well indeed, but he didn't say anything -- just raised a hand which Fräulein Liebermann took hold of rather possessively. _"You are burning up."_ She turned to Purdey. "But this man I know. He has been here many times. He did not say he had an aunt so very..."

"Young?" Purdey said, coming to the other side of the bed and taking possession of his other hand. "I married his Uncle John not so very long ago. Michael and I met then." She wanted to get rid of Margot as quickly as she could, but she could tell it wasn't going to be easy.

"I see," said Margot, looking a bit pinched. "You are close, then?"

"Very," Purdey confirmed. "I'm going to take him home as soon as he's fit."

Margot's face betrayed her dismay. "Home? I did not even know he was still in Berlin."

"I'll bet," Purdey said through clenched teeth. "I think Michael works on a need-to-know basis, don't you?" she asked Gambit's closed eyes. He opened them again, and looked from Purdey to Margot and back again, and smiled in a way that Purdey wasn't sure was entirely appropriate considering the circumstances.

"Mmph," was the eloquent reply, and he took hold of Purdey's sleeve again. Margot responded by turning Gambit's head her way, brushing aside a stray curl.

"You need a hospital," she told Gambit. "You are very unwell."

But Gambit's smile vanished and he shook his head, grimacing. "No...no..."

"It's all right," Purdey reassured him hastily. "We're not going back to the hospital." _Not unless you look like you're going to die on me._ She met Margot's eyes. "He really hates hospitals. That's why we came here."

Margot made an impatient noise. "Then we must do what we can, and hope that it is enough." When Gambit didn't let go of her hand she freed it gently and reached for the thermometer. _"It is all right, mein Liebling,"_ she said, tucking it under his tongue. _"We will see you well."_

It took all Purdey's self-control to not object to the intimacy. The flare of jealousy startled her -- what exactly had Gambit been telling this girl? And how much did it resemble what he'd said to Purdey to herself? She took a grip on herself. All that Gambit had actually told her was that he'd made a habit of putting girls on "trouser duty". And then there was that little black book to consider. Not that she had any intention of thinking about it just now. There was too much to do. Still, _Mabel_ had a right to be annoyed. "I don't see the ice," she pointed out, reaching across to collect the packet of aspirin from the tray.

Margot began to unbutton Gambit's shirt with a decidedly practiced efficiency. "There is a closet at the end of the hall with linens and towels and an ice machine just beyond it, next to the elevator," she told Purdey, and then hissed when her efforts revealed the bandages on Gambit's chest. "We cannot put him in a cool shower, I think. Not with these."

"I was thinking an alcohol rubdown," Purdey told her. "No, let us do the work," she added to Gambit when he began to tug blindly at his still-buttoned sleeves. She put the aspirin down on the bedclothes and took the shoulder opposite Margot. "Careful," she warned the other girl, as they raised Gambit to a sitting position long enough to get the shirt off. "That arm is injured too."

"What happened?" Margot asked.

"The doctor thinks he was mugged -- _beraubt,_ he said," Purdey added when Margot didn't seem to know the English word. "I came to bring him home as soon as he was fit, but the hospital was giving him nightmares and he insisted that we come to a hotel."

"I see." Margot got the shirt clear and they laid Gambit back against the pillows. _"You will have better dreams here," _she promised Gambit, slipping easily into German again. She began to work on his top trouser button and he caught her hand. _"Hush,"_ she said. _"There is nothing here we have not seen, Meisterliebhaber. You cannot stay in all your sweat."_

His eyes opened again and he looked to Purdey, who was painfully aware of the blush that burned her ears as she figured out the new bit of German vocabulary. Master Lover, indeed! For the sake of having something neutral to say she took the thermometer from his mouth and read it. "Thirty nine point two." The mental calculation drove her embarrassment aside. "That's nearly 103... I'll fetch the ice." They had to bring his temperature down, and quickly, if they could, or call in a doctor regardless.

By the time she got back Margot had his trousers in a rumpled heap on the floor, although she'd drawn the coverlet up to his waist. Gambit was hanging onto it with white-knuckled fists and shifting restlessly while the German girl importuned him to let her prop him up so he could drink some of the juice she had brought him.

Purdey took a moment to put the pillowcase she'd filled with ice into the bathroom sink and then went to help Margot pile pillows behind Gambit's head. "Mike," she said and then remembered she was "Mabel". "Michael, it's all right."

He seemed to hear her after a moment and studied her with a faintly petulant air. "You went away..." he croaked, like a sulky child.

"Yes, just for a moment. But I'm here now."

"Said you would stay..."

"And I did, while we were at the hospital. But we're at the hotel now, and you're feverish and we need ice to cool you off." The worried line was still between his eyebrows so she added. "I won't go away again, not without telling you first."

"Promise." It was a command not a question.

"I promise."

"We will both stay," Margot interrupted. "At least until you are feeling better. Frau Horrocks, where have you put the aspirin?"

Purdey had to think for a moment. The packet had been in her hand, and then... She began to rummage through the bedclothes that Margot had pushed over onto the unoccupied side of the bed. A tug on the coverlet suddenly sent the aspirin packet and her purse both flying and the contents of her purse spilled out across the floor like a field of scree at the bottom of a cliff.

Her first instinct was to go for the aspirin, but it took a hard check when she realized that the envelope with the photograph had slipped most of the way out of the magazine Gambit had hidden it in and the bright red warnings were clearly visible. She didn't dare look to see if Margot had noticed -- that would only make things worse -- so she scrambled after the mess instead, hoping to hide the indiscretion with her own body. She shoved the magazine and envelope under the bed and grabbed for the aspirin package. "Here," she said, tossing it back to Margot before making herself very busy with putting the rest of the debris back into the purse.

_"Verflixt!"_ Margot exclaimed a moment later, the sentiment echoed by a less articulate noise from Gambit. Purdey turned to see what had gone wrong. The tomato juice had spilled across Gambit's face, neck and chest, and he was curling up, trying to swallow. Purdey abandoned the purse and got up on the bed again.

"What happened?" she asked as Gambit finally managed to get the pills down his throat and sprawl back again.

Margot shook her head, as if to brush aside the question for being too obvious. "I should have used a straw after all."

"A straw?" Purdey really looked at the tray this time and realized that Margot had brought up an assortment of paper straws and had been trying to give Gambit his drink from a small plastic teakettle shaped like an elephant's head with the trunk as a spout.

The delicate color on Margot's cheeks deepened even more. "You sounded so young," she said. "I thought your nephew must be a child." She gave the mug to Purdey and got up from the bed. "I will go and get clean linens and towels."

As soon as she was out the door Purdey reached under the bed and grabbed the magazine with the envelope in it. If Liebermann hadn't told his daughter that Gambit was in the hotel, then chances were pretty good that she wasn't in on her father's secrets. She darted over to the radiator -- still cool in this weather -- and dropped the magazine down behind it with the envelope still inside. It would take some obvious maneuvering to retrieve it, but that was all to the good. Purdey wasn't certain that Margot didn't have an ulterior motive in fleeing the room. She'd had one herself after all. If only she could be certain that Margot hadn't seen that envelope!

She went back to the bed and collected the fever rag to clean the spilled juice off of Gambit. The tomato juice looked far too much like blood for her comfort. "I wish I knew what you've told Margot about your work," she muttered.

Gambit frowned. "Margot?" he asked, looking around vaguely.

"She'll be back soon," Purdey told him. She tossed the befouled washrag aside before she realized that she'd missed a few drops near the corner of his mouth. "Hold still," she told him and brushed them aside with her fingertips. His mouth felt very different under her touch now that he was awake. She let her fingers linger against the roughness of his cheek, but resisted the sudden urge to run her thumb across those hot lips. It wasn't like he was in any shape to appreciate the gesture.

He lay still obediently, his eyes huge and bright. "I wish... I wish..."

"You wish what?" she asked, wondering where the fever was taking him. After all that babbling at the hospital she half expected him to starting singing something out of _Snow White._

"Wish it was fair." He reached up to touch her cheek, and for a moment their gestures echoed each other.

"Fair?" She felt she ought to know what he was talking about, but she was far too aware of his hand against her face to think.

"To the kids. Twice as bad with the two of us dancing." His eyes closed and his hand fell to the bed again, as if his strength had given out.

For a moment she could almost see them, five scruffy, somber ragamuffins and a shadowy sixth, silently watching as their parents trod a perilous waltz. "Mike..." But he was shivering suddenly and gooseflesh was prickling out across his arms and chest. She could swear she could feel him getting warmer. "Damnit, Mike, don't you dare die on me now."

"'M okay," he whispered. "Jus' cold."

Purdey reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "You'll be a lot colder in a minute," she warned him. She poured a little of the cool liquid into the palm of her hand and began spreading it across his chest, avoiding the bandages as best she could. It evaporated almost as soon as it touched his skin. "How does that feel?"

He shuddered. "_Too_ cold."

"Let it warm in your hand first," Margot said, returning with an armful of towels and sheets. "My mother she does so, when I am small and sick."

Purdey nodded. "Come to think of it, my mum did too. Or she mixed it with tepid water so I wouldn't take a chill." She bit her lip. "We haven't got a basin... how about that vase?"

"Ja, that will do."

* * *

If Gambit had been in better condition, he would have enjoyed having two beautiful women spreading the water-alcohol mix over him by hand. As it was, he was too busy shivering to appreciate the situation. Besides, it felt like being massaged with icicles. He locked his jaw and took it, but when it got to the point where not even grim determination could keep his teeth from chattering they took pity on his complaints of cold and bundled him into an armchair with a couple of blankets wrapped around and a glass of juice to sip at while they changed the bed.

The break seemed to do him some good, or the aspirin did. He watched the two women as they worked. Margot had brought a rubber sheet to protect the mattress -- not that it wasn't already pretty damp from the alcohol bath -- but at least Gambit wasn't going to have to sleep in the wet spot. Purdey... no, he wasn't meant to call her that, if he could just remember why... Mabel-love, the one who wasn't his aunt really, she was acting a bit oddly, deflecting Margot whenever it seemed that the Liebermann girl might go around to the far side of the bed. But he didn't ask. Talking was dangerous, he knew that much. Not that he wanted to talk while the lassitude of the fever had melted his bones.

Besides, there were too many things he couldn't say in front of Margot and he half suspected that there were more than a few things he shouldn't say in front of Pur... Mabel-love. Not about Margot in any case. He didn't think they liked each other much. Which was a shame, because he'd learnt a trick or three from that lovely pair of surfers he'd met in Australia, and he hadn't forgotten any of them.

"Well, he's smiling anyway." The voice brought him out of his doze. "Open your mouth, Michael. I want to get your temperature now that your teeth aren't chattering so hard they'd break the glass."

"Mmmmm," he said around the thermometer that Purdey put under his tongue. He blinked at her a couple of times and tried to sit up straighter.

"Easy..." Purdey took one side and Margot the other, and they shifted him up so that he wasn't sliding off the chair.

Margot laid a hand on his forehead. _"You are starting to sweat. That is good; it means the fever is broken."_

"_The fever or me_?" Gambit mumbled. Purdey glared at him and he quieted, pushing the thermometer back where it belonged under his tongue. It wasn't fair to have the two of him ganging up on him. Not like this, any road. He closed his eyes and thought about Australia. It had been too hot there, too. And he'd sunburned in some very awkward places.

He opened one eye when the thermometer was taken out of his mouth, and waited for the verdict.

"Thirty nine even," Purdey said. "That's progress, anyway."

He scowled at her, in no mood for maths. "What is that in real numbers?"

"A little over a hundred and two," she told him. "How do you feel?"

"Limp."

But he was more awake than he had been. He noticed that the women had laid down a layer of towels on the bed in preparation for another alcohol bath and made a face. "Do you have to do it again?"

"It's that or ice packs," Purdey told him. "Unless you'd rather I called a doctor."

"Ice packs," he decided after a moment's thought. He could probably manage to push the ice packs away without anyone noticing.

* * *

Purdey found herself yawning for the third time in as many minutes, and took a moment to rest one of the half-melted ice packs against her eyes. It wasn't like her makeup had survived this long anyway. It would be daylight soon.

She wished Margot would just leave. Not that she wasn't grateful to the German woman for all the help she'd given. Heaven only knew how Purdey would have managed to get Gambit back into the bed alone. And Margot was more awake, more able to spot Mike's unsubtle attempts to shift off the cooling packs. But the nagging worry about the "Top Secret" envelope was still bothering Purdey, and the more coherent Gambit got, the better the chance that he would slip up and call her by her own name instead of "Mabel". If only because he was talking more now.

Well. Fussing.

_"I'm okay now,"_ he insisted again, batting ineffectively at the damp cloth Margot was trying to put on his forehead. Although his red-rimmed eyes and the sweat beading on his face told another story. _"Just tired."_

_"__Then you should sleep, Mausi,__"_Margot said.

_"I'm too hot. Except where those damn ice packs are,"_ Gambit grumbled. His eyes drifted over to Purdey. "Why can't you just let me sleep?"

At least he'd remembered to speak English to her. "Get your temperature down just a bit more, and then you can sleep. Half a degree, that's all I ask."

He pushed at the covers. "How'm I meant to do that when you keep making me hot?"

"Last time we took the blankets off you said you were too cold."

"And now I'm too hot." Even sulking she could see the quirk at the corner of his mouth that told her that he knew he was being petulant. She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled suddenly, somewhere between sheepishness and amusement. "And cranky."

"Think you could tolerate one more sponge bath? Just water this time, and not too cold?"

He sighed, but nodded. "As long as I can sleep afterwards."

"Fair enough."

She went into the bathroom to fill the vase and collect a couple of washrags, and when she came out again, Margot was on her feet and folding up the duvets to lay them on the couch. Purdey's expression must have given some of her dismay away – she'd been so intent on getting the water for Gambit that she'd clean forgotten about the hidden envelope – because Margot gave her a puzzled look and said. "We do not have so many extra, if these get wet. A sheet will do for now."

"Oh..." Purdey shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "Michael's not the only one in need of sleep," she offered. "I'm not used to staying up all night."

"Your husband is an older man, yes? And the long nights are not easy when you do not do them often," Margot agreed, and then cast a fond look at Gambit. "But it is much easier when _he _is the one staying _up_."

On another occasion, Purdey might have sniggered at that observation. Gambit certainly did. But he didn't, couldn't, know about the envelope. She made herself busy with the sponge bath, her mind spinning hamster wheels as she tried to figure out whether or not she could trust Margot the way that Gambit seemed to. It didn't help that she didn't want to trust anyone, oh all right, any _girl _who could turn a simple sponge bath into an excuse to let her hands linger so intimately on a man's belly.

_The envelope._ Gambit was drowsing now, but surely he'd notice if Margot tried to find it or take it. If Purdey gave her the opportunity...

_Ah, the old hide in the bathroom, leave the door ajar, and watch through the gap by the hinges trick,_ she thought, unsure whether or not the echo of Maxwell Smart's voice in her head was a _good_ thing. But it was more of a plan than she'd had, and she decided to give it a go.

"Here, give me those ice packs, they're melted. I'll dump them out and make fresh. That way they'll be all ready if we need them." There was still ice in the pillowcase in the sink, which gave her the excuse she needed, and she could put together a bag of cubes and rattle it to create the impression that she was busy.

She was almost disappointed, once she'd crept over to her watching post, to see that Margot hadn't left her position by Gambit's side. In fact, if anything, Margot was even closer to him. Purdey almost forgot to make the ice pack rattle as she watched Margot bend down to give Gambit a long, leisurely kiss.

That woke him up all right. He stared up at her as she sat back and Margot smiled down at his bemused expression. _"I cannot stay much longer, Liebling. I must get the desk ready for the morning, and see to the arriving staff and supplies in the kitchen."_

_"Is it that late?"_

_"Oh, yes. You shall have to sleep in."_ She rested her hand against the side of his face for a moment, and then trailed it down his body. Gambit made a noise, deep in his chest, and the girl chuckled as she surveyed the thin sheet which covered his hips. _"I would not wish to leave you too soon, but I see you are feeling much better than you were."_

Gambit caught her hand in his, and put it to his lips. _"Margot... thank you. I'm sorry to have been so much trouble."_ In spite of the evidence, he still sounded very pitiful, and somehow Purdey wasn't surprised that Margot bent down to kiss him again, and stayed there, with her face near his.

Purdey couldn't see Margot's expression past the fall of her hair, but she could hear the change in her tone of voice. _"You should have called me, Mike, when you were hurt here in my own city. I would not have had to come so far."_

_"Not my choice, Margot-Maus. And the doctor didn't know."_ Gambit closed his eyes again, took a moment as if he were hoarding his strength_. "Besides, it seems a shame to waste any time I might have with you feeling this awf..."_

The ringing of the phone startled all three of them. Purdey dropped her bag of ice; Gambit tried to sit up and gasped with pain; Margot swore and caught his shoulders, easing him back against the pillow. _"It is all right. I set the switchboard through to this room in case I was delayed."_ She picked up the receiver._ "Reception desk, Der Blaue Adler."_

By the time Purdey had tossed the scattered ice cubes from the floor into the bathtub and reached the bathroom door, Margot had already hung up the phone and stood up to go. For a moment Purdey wondered if she hadn't been crying. The makeup on her cheek was smudged, as if she'd run a hand across it and there was a brittle note to her voice as she spoke to Purdey. "I must return to my work, Frau Horrocks. You will call me if you need a doctor recommended?"

"I don't think we will," Purdey said. "Michael's doing much better, thank you."

"But if that should change?" Margot's green eyes were dark with distrust, and Purdey knew hers were no better. But somehow, in that split second she felt closer to Margot than she had all night.

"Of course we'll let you know. You or your father," Purdey amended, belatedly, not wanting to make a commitment.

"I just need to sleep," Gambit put in. "I'm okay, Margot, really. You go back to work." He gave the girl one of the smiles that Purdey found so hard to resist. Evidently they worked on Margot too, because she recovered her aplomb and returned the smile with interest.

"_I shall see you tomorrow,"_ she promised and bent to give him one last kiss –- a mere peck by comparison -- before nodding pertly to "Mabel" and departing.

Purdey went to the door and turned the lock with a fierceness that surprised her. It was bad enough to know that Margot had been sleeping with Gambit, but somehow worse to know that he was important enough to her for the kind of worry that had been in those green eyes.

She leaned her head against the closed door and closed her eyes, meaning to banish the memory of the way he'd responded to Margot's kiss, but her treacherous imagination was all too willing to elaborate on the possibilities.

"Purdey-girl?" The nickname made her stiffen, but his voice was concerned, not coaxing. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, but kept her face turned away from him until she knew she could control her expression.

He was smiling sleepily, but there was a crease between his eyebrows. "Give me a hand getting these damp towels out from under, and I'll stop being a nuisance," he said. "It's a bit chilly in here."

She went to the couch to collect one of the duvets, to loft over the bed so it would come down and settle already spread out. "There," she said with fragile alacrity. "Now, if you nudge over to the other side of the bed I can get the towels and you can sleep."

"Oh," he blinked. He made a face as he scooted over, but he managed. "That was a good idea." He was still looking at Purdey with a question in his eyes.

"It was Margot's idea," Purdey admitted, her voice cracking on the name, and then made herself very busy with collecting the towels and the damp washrags, carefully avoiding his fevered eyes. She wished that she hadn't mentioned the other woman. _Least said, soonest mended._

He sighed a little. "About Margot..." he began, but Purdey didn't want to hear it.

"I'd best take care of these -- let you sleep," she said, and fled to the bathroom before the waters could get any deeper. With the door safely closed she turned on the cold tap at the sink and filled her cupped hands with water, burying her face in them to cool it, and to wash away the tears that insisted on falling. It was a moment before she dared look her reflection in the eye, and when she did she couldn't help but see the dark shadows that smudged the tops of her cheeks. "You're just tired, that's what it is. A few more hours of sleep and you wouldn't be falling apart." She didn't know why it was she'd got herself so tangled. Proximity, protectiveness... _The fact that he's the first man you've trusted enough to sleep with -- even if it was only sleeping -- in donkey's years_... "You saw that book of his. You saw the way the women in records looked when Steed said he needed rescuing. He's a skirt-chaser, just like every other man in the department_." A skirt-chaser who wants a wife and kids_? "He didn't mean that," Purdey tried to persuade her reflection. But part of her mind drifted sleepily out and back to London, to the river, and a cozy little boat where a small dark-haired child held onto her finger in a chubby fist and studied the passing boats with sea blue eyes. While she watched him, watched the way the sunlight filtered through his curls, she felt a familiar pair of arms encircle her waist and well-shaped hands rest against her abdomen. She could feel and hear a deep contented, chuckle. "Ready for number two, Purdey-girl?" the man behind her asked.

It was Larry's voice.

Purdey snapped out of the fantasy with a jolt, shaking her head. No. That wasn't what she wanted. Not anymore.

"How many dates could you have had this week if you wanted them? Enjoy the flirting but keep it impersonal, remember? That was the plan," Purdey tried again to make her mirror-self understand. There'd be plenty of candidates for Gambit's houseboat, no doubt, and Margot at the head of the line. But Purdey had no intention of leaving her heart out where it could be battered again. No intention of handing her dreams over to any man and then watch him turn them into nightmares. _It might be different this time_, the mirror argued.

Purdey collected herself, practiced putting on a cool, professional air as she rinsed another washcloth. "You're not stupid," she reminded the mirror, "and Mike Gambit's not worth getting worked up over. Probably." But the last word was only a whisper, and she wasn't about to admit to herself that she'd heard it.

* * *

Gambit waited for Purdey to come out of the bathroom, knowing that he had to straighten things out with her before he could let himself sleep. Margot could be left without knowing where things stood, but Purdey was different. He had to explain.

But she didn't come out. Vaguely aware that he was pushing his luck, Gambit managed to struggle out from under the covers. He didn't care if he felt it in the morning--hell, it was the morning, and he was feeling it. But he had to do this.

He saw his trousers lying over a chair and reached for them, maneuvered his feet into them somehow and pulled them on. There were only a few times and places when you could walk in on a lady in the raw, and this definitely wasn't one of them. It wasn't the lady, either. Besides, he didn't think Purdey was in any more shape to appreciate the view than he was to do something about it if she did.

* * *

Purdey had just turned to open the door, but jumped in surprise when the knob turned before she could reach it, and she suddenly found herself looking into Gambit's blue eyes. "Gambit!" she exclaimed.

"Need to talk to you," he said, propping himself against the doorjamb in a way that suggested that he really required the support.

"What you need is to get back to bed," Purdey scolded, trying to steer him back into the bedroom.

He shook his head. "'S important."

"About the envelope? It's safely hidden." _Stick to the professional part of the business._

"About Margot."

"Don't worry about Margot," Purdey said, wishing he'd just shut up. "She doesn't matter."

"She _does _matter," Gambit said, and Purdey's heart skipped a beat. But Gambit was rubbing at his face. "That didn't come out right."

Purdey stopped trying to move him and retreated back to lean against the counter that held the sink. She crossed her arms, hoping to hide the way her hands wanted to curl into fists. "You don't have to explain anything. It was all pretty obvious."

He shook his head. "No... Look, don't get me wrong. I like Margot. She's a good dancer and she's good in bed. But she's not one of us."

_One of us?_ Purdey's eyes came up to meet his at last.

"Her dad knows what we're up to -- most of it anyway," Gambit went on, relaxing a little now that she was looking at him. "He has to, in order to keep this place a safe refuge. But Margot, she's a _civilian._ We date sometimes, if I happen to be in Berlin, that's all. She knows it's just a bit of fun. Purdey..." He reached out a hand to her. "I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"She's worried about you," Purdey pointed out, softly, looking at that open, inviting hand. "She does care."

"Of course she does. She's a nice kid, and she's known me for three years or more. But it's not like I'm the only man she has a bit on the side with. She knows I'm not serious." He wasn't going to be able to keep that hand in the air much longer, by the way it was trembling.

The sensible part of Purdey's brain couldn't seem to decide if she went to him because of the way he'd held his hand out to her or because she wanted to keep him from tipping over. "And here I was thinking she was a candidate for that houseboat of yours," she said, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. She tried to tuck herself in alongside his least damaged side so she could get him back into bed.

"Margot?" Gambit said, surprised. "She gets seasick in a bathtub. Besides, she's not the sort of girl I'd want aboard." He wasn't cooperating. Just standing there like a great lump with his arm over her shoulders.

"Oh? And what sort of girl are you going to take aboard, then?" The question came out before she could censor it, and she hoped it didn't sound as flippant to him as it did to her. Or maybe she did. Gambit's eyes were too close now, and she avoided them, although looking at his lips wasn't going to make the odd feeling in her middle go away any time soon.

"Someone I don't have to keep secrets from," he said huskily. "Someone who..." his breath skipped a pace. "Purdey..."

He'd gone green, she realized a moment after he tried to lunge past her for the loo, and the eyes she'd finally looked up into had been crossing. Unfortunately, her instinctive reaction had been to try to hold him up just at the moment he most definitely needed to be falling to his knees and somehow they ended up with him draped over the side of the tub, heaving up the remains of the goulash while she tried to disentangle herself before more of it landed on her sleeve and hand.

_Well that certainly murdered the mood._ But practicality was stronger than any sense of disgust, or even disappointment that the huskiness in his voice must have been due to rising nausea and not something else. She held his back until the worst of the spasms eased and then hooked some of the towels over with her foot and reached across him to turn on the cold water tap in the tub so she could rinse off her arm. He slumped a little farther, until he was sitting on the floor facing her across the tiles.

"Yaagh. Sorry about that."

"At least you weren't drunk," she said, damping the end of a towel to clean his face and the few spatters that had hit his bare skin. "But I think it's time we called a doctor."

He caught her hand. "No." The blue eyes were steely. "No doctor."

"But..."

"Call in a doctor now and we'll both end up dead." She hadn't seen that look on his face since he'd punched the nurse. A statue could look less stony. "Tomorrow, when you've had some sleep, you can go out and kidnap one if I'm not better. But they'll be looking to see if a doctor gets called out tonight, and who's to say if the man we call is the man who walks in the door?"

"We could ask Margot." Purdey offered. She didn't think she _could_ kidnap a doctor, and Gambit didn't sound like he was joking. "She'd know any doctor she called for you."

"And she'd end up just as dead if the wrong man turned up." He wasn't going to allow that. She could see it from the grim set of his jaw. Reluctantly, she nodded acquiescence.

He might have said something more, but a fit of coughing caught him. Purdey got up far enough to get a glass from the counter and filled it at the running tap. He rinsed his mouth out and spat into the swirl in the tub and then drank about half of what was left in the glass. "Thanks," he said, leaning back against the loo. "That's better. I think I scraped my throat raw."

"Think you're going to get sick again?" she asked, reassured somewhat by the return of color and animation to his face.

"Don't think there's anything left in me to get sick with," he countered ruefully. He looked at her, smiled a little. "Sorry about your dress."

She glanced down at the spatters across her skirt and the wet place on her sleeve. "I think it won't stain if I wash it out right away," she said. "Not enough to matter, anyway."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but another set of coughs interrupted whatever he'd been about to say.

Purdey pushed herself to her feet. "I'd best get you back to bed."

* * *

At least the trousers had given Purdey something to hold onto as she manhandled him back to bed, Gambit thought. Not that he couldn't have managed if he had to, but crawling wasn't very dignified.

He did his absolute best to look healthy – or at least healthy enough to get by without a doctor – while she was tucking him in, and told her he was fine sturdily enough that she finally stopped fussing with the covers. He had the feeling he'd frightened her. Hell, he'd frightened himself.

"Sure you'll be all right while I clean up?" she asked.

He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze in answer and then closed his eyes, hoping she'd think he was going to sleep. What he was actually doing was keeping another round of coughs at bay as long as he could manage to. It bloody well _hurt _to cough, not so much in his throat, but down where the sutures were. But it was the scratchiness in his throat that was going to set things off if he let it.

_Think about something else._

He could hear the clunk of suitcase latches, but the splash of water in the tub hid her bare footsteps, and it wasn't until the sound of the water changed to the rataplan of a shower that he knew for certain she was in the bathroom.

In the shower_. Right. Think about Purdey in a shower._

Funny that she had mentioned the houseboat again. Funny that he'd told her about it, even joking. That was an old, dead dream. Moribund anyway. He'd probably spend his retirement trying to see all the countries he'd somehow missed along the way, not that he wouldn't mind bringing Purdey along on the trip. If he made it to retirement. Purdey probably wasn't in the market for babies anyway, not if she'd taken up this job.

_Doesn't mean she wouldn't like practicing the technique,_ part of him hoped.

_Think about something else. If you can._

He didn't think there was any chance of talking Purdey into trouser duty again tonight, but there was no denying that he'd sleep better without them. _You're a big boy, you can take them off yourself._ It just meant sitting up for a minute or so. _Do it while she's still busy in the bathroom._

But trying to shift onto his side and push up into a sitting position set off the coughing again, and this time he couldn't make it stop. It hurt, too, no matter which side he tried to roll to, either because of his arm or the bandages on his chest, and he realized for the first time how much he'd been depending on Purdey or the orderlies to get him upright when he'd been lying flat.

_I managed to get up by myself before!_ But he hadn't been coughing then, hadn't strained the muscles in his abdomen by vomiting yet. He locked his jaw and forced himself to twist towards the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the pain. He had to sit up somehow just so he could ease the stress on his middle and keep some of the air in his lungs long enough to do some good. The coughs came again, relentless. He twisted again, pushed a foot out over the edge of the bed, thinking if he fell off onto his hands and knees it would be an improvement. At least if he coughed himself into vomiting again he'd be facing the right direction.

"Wait! Wait! Here, I've got you." Purdey was there behind him, lifting him by his shoulders and tugging him back up onto the bed. He leaned back against her, aware of the warm damp soapy air she'd brought from the shower, grateful to the warmth of her body against his back. Upright was so much better. The coughs still hurt, but braced against Purdey he could almost stand the pain.

Her arm around his waist pushed against the sutures at first, but then she let go for a moment to swathe a duvet around both of them and tuck a pillow against his chest, holding it against his injuries while he coughed. The pillow helped, made the sutures stop feeling like they were going to pop. Gambit held his hand over hers, shifted the pressure around a little until it felt best. Gradually, the coughs eased, letting him rest between fits. Gradually the rests got longer than the fits. Eventually he realized that Purdey had stopped making soothing noises at him some time ago even though she was still leaned up against his back like a second rider on a motorbike.

"Purdey," he croaked, turning his head to look at her.

"Hey?" She lifted her head from his shoulder and blinked at him with a sleepy scowl for a moment before she smiled. "Sorry. Must have dozed off."

"You're in worse shape than I am," he accused.

"I am not," she said, and then yawned. "I'm just sleepy."

"So lie down and sleep."

She considered that, sitting back to look at him. "Well, your cough is better," she said.

"It ought to be," he said. "I've been practicing enough."

She snorted her opinion of the joke, and reached up a hand to check his forehead. "Sure you don't want a doctor?"

He shook his head. All the arguments still applied, and truth to tell he felt better just now than he'd felt for a long while. "Just a drink of water."

"Right." Purdey began disentangling herself.

Shifting back to lean against the pillow pile she made against the headboard undid a little of his sense of numb sleepiness, but he tried not to let her see that. He didn't let her see the stain of blood and pus on the pillow he still held to the sutures either, though he checked it himself while she was in the bathroom getting him the glass of water. It wasn't too bad, he thought. No worse than the bandages had been when the nurses at the hospital had changed them... was it only yesterday morning?

Purdey came back from the bathroom and his half-awake brain caught up to the realization that she had changed from the beautiful white silk outfit she'd been in to a white cotton circus tent.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Nightshirt, female, standard issue." Purdey replied, the ghost of a smile flickering in her sleepy eyes. "Item number three in the suitcase, female, standard issue I got given, which judging from the girdle that's item number two, suggests that the standard female does her undercover work as a tractor driver in Vladivostok."

"What's item number one?" Gambit wondered, taking the glass she held out to him.

"Woolly knickers, the kind that go all the way down to your knee. Not exactly the sort of thing you'd want as a femme fatale." Purdey chuckled, pulling the armchair up beside the bed. She yawned again as she curled up in it. "I didn't bother to read the rest of the inventory."

He drank a little water, reached over to the nightstand and put the glass where he could get it again by himself. "Aren't you going to lie down?"

"MMnn." She shook her head 'no'. "Don't want to kick you if I have a nightmare." Her eyes had closed. He thought she must already be three fourths the way asleep, but she was fighting it. "Sure you're okay?" she asked.

"I'll do for now," he said softly, hoping she'd rest. "You're a good nurse."

A smile curved her lips. "Everything I know about medicine I learned from watching the telly," she admitted, but her eyes never opened and a moment later her breath had settled into the even pattern of slumber.

Gambit smiled and let his own eyes close. "Only you," he whispered, lest he waken her again. "Only you."


	3. A Friend in Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berlin

Berlin

Chapter 3: A Friend in Need

by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel

Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.

_Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink __(though you can see it at_ http://docs. google. com /View?docID(equalsign)d4pccjp(underline)215hr7t95 if you're curious. Replace the parentheses with the named punctuation and take out the spaces_. And curse ff.n's document editor for me, will you?)__It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play..._

* * *

Gambit was never quite sure what brought him alert. He had never been very good at sleeping propped up, and the cough seemed to keep trying to reappear just when he'd fallen into a doze, but all the same he'd managed to miss sunrise, and the daylight reflected in through the windows told him he'd probably missed breakfast as well. But the room was quiet, and if there'd been voices in the corridor outside the hotel room door they'd gone silent. But there was something. He checked the door and as he watched the doorhandle sank slowly, as if someone were testing it from the far side.

He tried to sit up the rest of the way too quickly and set off an even worse fit than usual, the coughs deep in his chest and painful on their own account in a way that they hadn't been last night. The doorhandle returned quickly to a normal position, but he knew that whoever was out there would persist in trying to get in. He knew he would, if he were in their shoes.

Purdey was still curled up in the armchair by the bed, sleeping the sleep of the weary, her feet tucked up under the hem of the "standard issue" nightgown. _Standard issue._ Gambit's eyes went to the suitcase she'd brought with her and recognized the size and shape if not the color for the first time. _Thank you, Steed!_ He reached over and shook the knee he could reach. "Purdey..." he whispered as softly as he could. "Purdey, wake up." He hated to disturb her, but the suitcase was sitting across the room, and he had the unhappy feeling that if he tried to go and fetch it himself he'd end up flat on his face.

Her head came up like a periscope and she blinked at him once or twice before he saw recognition in her eyes. He put a finger to his lips to signal silence. That brought her awake, and her quick check of the room before she looked back to him made him want to smile_. Thank heavens she's got the right instincts for this work_, he thought. _Now I just hope she's learned how to fight_. He pantomimed the size and shape of the suitcase, pretended to pull on a handle in the air, and after a moment of knitted brows she nodded and uncoiled herself from the chair, looking incongruously like a schoolchild angel from a Nativity play in the oversized white nightgown. As she padded over to fetch back the suitcase to him, the person on the other side of the door tried to open it again. Purdey froze for a moment and then looked a startled, frightened question to Gambit with her eyes.

He nodded and signalled with both hands for her to bring the suitcase quickly. She didn't understand why -- that was clear -- but she did it, and then picked up one of the table lamps as she darted back over to stand by the hinges of the door, hefting it like the weapon she meant it to be.

Gambit could do better than that, if he could do it in time. He opened the suitcase quickly and dumped out the contents, sliding his hand along the sides to find the hidden panels. One. Two. Three. Four. A handle, a triggering mechanism, a barrel, and just enough ammunition to get out of a jam. He'd fired one of the department's emergency zipguns once, just to know what to expect if he ever had to do it in earnest, but he'd never had to assemble one with sweaty hands, or with the pressure of hearing the pick-locks turn the cylinders as he went along.

He wasn't ready by the time the door eased open, but Purdey was. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her swing down her lamp a moment too early, in time to hit the hand of the intruder, but too soon to do any damage where it would matter. The door slammed open, knocking her back and a burly, blond man barrelled in, but Gambit couldn't take the time to really watch what was happening in the fight. He had to get the spring into place, and lock down the barrel.

_There!_ He looked up just in time to see Purdey push herself off of the wall, hitch up her nightgown, and bring up one long leg in a kick that sent her opponent flying backwards into the bed. That was Gambit's cue. He grabbed for the man's coat collar and missed, but the other hand had the zipgun ready. "Hold still!" he shouted, "or I'll shoot!"

Shouting set off the coughs again, but he managed not to pull the trigger -- which was good, because the face that turned to look at him was that of a friend. "Bloody hell, Mike!" Terry Coyne said. "Put that thing down before you hurt someone."

He shook his head, trying to make sense of the new development. Of all the people who might have shot him as he came over the wall, Terry was near the bottom of the list. Hell, last he knew, Terry had been in Malta. "What..." he swallowed the coughs, made himself speak clearly. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Steed got worried when Purdey didn't call in." Terry turned to look at the girl, who was watching the two men with confused eyes. "You are Purdey, aren't you? Steed did say he'd sent a beautiful young lady in to bring Gambit out."

"How do you know my name?" she asked tensely, hefting the broken lamp she'd snatched up from the floor.

"Steed called me up when I was about to get a flight home and told me to divert to Berlin and find out what had gone wrong. He was expecting you two back in London yesterday."

"That's why you're in Berlin." Purdey's voice hadn't lost any of its ice. "Why are you _here?__"_

"Pure luck. I needed a place to sleep after running around all night trying to find you two again and when I went to sign in downstairs I saw the name Mabel Horrocks in the hotel registry." Coyne held up both hands pacifically. "Look, Steed said to mention Debussy to Gambit and to tell you that he pulled you out of karate class. Beginners karate class, yet," he added ruefully, rubbing at the red mark on his chin. "I've got a radio in my room if you want to talk to him yourselves."

Gambit looked at Purdey and she nodded, although she looked like she was doing sums in her head. "That's probably best," she agreed slowly.

"Didn't you call in from the train station?" Gambit asked her. "When you got the suitcases?"

She flushed. "I forgot."

She looked so flustered that Gambit laughed and relaxed. It was just like Steed to send in a second man -- agent -- when the first one hadn't checked in. But he'd like to be certain. "The radio's probably a good idea," he told Coyne.

"I'll be right back," Coyne said. Then he cocked an eyebrow at the gun Gambit was still holding. "Or would you rather she went along with me to make sure I behave?" He waggled the eyebrow suggestively.

Gambit snorted. "I know you better than to let you get yourself alone with a pretty girl, old chap," he said, falling into the familiar round of teasing. "Behaving would be the last thing on your mind."

"I'm not the lad whose just spent the night with her in the honeymoon suite," Terry pointed out. "Although I have to say you don't look like you're in any shape to have enjoyed it."

Gambit caught the worried note, although he didn't think Purdey would. She didn't know Coyne well enough. "I'm okay," he said, and then promptly proved himself a liar by having to cough again. "Mostly."

"You look like sh... something warmed over," Coyne said frankly. "Why not stay in hospital where you were being taken care of?"

"It's a long story," Gambit's suspicions were mostly allayed, but he'd wait until they had Steed on the radio before he explained. There was still a sliver of a chance that Coyne had been turned, and he didn't want to risk Purdey. Fortunately, Terry knew him too well to take offense.

"Should be interesting," he said. "My name's Terry by the way," he offered a hand to Purdey as he rose to go, and she took it automatically. "Terry Coyne. I do hope you'll accept my apologies for banging you into the wall like that. I wasn't expecting you to be quite so..."

"Efficient?" she finished for him, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Dangerously beautiful," he replied, kissing her hand and making a little bow to her.

"The radio," Gambit growled the reminder, hoping that Purdey could see through Terry's wiles. It was a distinct disadvantage to be stuck in bed when the competition was fast on his feet.

"Right," Terry said, flashing a wink at Gambit before he turned to go. "Be right back."

When he'd gone Purdey closed the door behind him and turned to look at Gambit, a smile playing across her face. "Friend of yours?" she asked.

"Sometimes," Gambit allowed. He let himself lean back against the pillows again. "Did he hurt you?" She wasn't moving as smoothly as she had yesterday.

"I banged my hip on the occasional table," she said. "But I'm all right otherwise. A little stiff from the chair." She yawned and came over to sit down by him again. "How do you feel?"

"I'm okay." And then, when her skeptical expression told him that he hadn't been believed, added, "I could use a drink. Orange juice for preference."

"Do you think it will stay down?" She reached over to touch his forehead and cheek.

"Something has to."

"Hmm." She nodded agreement, but she got out the thermometer anyway. "Here. You're not as warm as you were last night, but I think you're still feverish."

"Mph." Effectively forestalled from talking by having his temperature taken, he watched her instead as she called room service and ordered enough breakfast for a small army -- as well as a carafe of orange juice. That done, she took the suitcase and began to collect all the things he'd dumped out of it. In spite of her business-like air he could see that her hands were trembling and he wondered if it was because she was tired or if she'd been unsettled by the fight with Terry. He hoped it was that she was tired. New or not, he'd already come to think of her as an asset to the cause, and he'd have hard words for Steed if she got frightened out of the profession before she'd properly began.

The tap on the door came just as it was time to check the thermometer, and Purdey took it with her as she crossed the room. "Who is it?"

"Terry."

"Oh..." She opened the door and let him in, sparing only a glance to be sure he was alone before her eyes went to the thermometer.

Coyne saw it and paused. "What does it read?"

"Thirty seven point eight." She met his worried look and smiled tightly. "It was worse last night."

"Well, that's something anyway." The two of them looked in unison at Gambit and he suppressed a sigh. They were going to gang up on him, no doubt, and he'd be lucky if he didn't end up back in hospital.

"I'm _fine,"_ he growled mendaciously.

Coyne snorted and used his foot to close the door. Both of his hands were full, one with a standard suitcase and one with a smaller case which Gambit knew to be the radio. "Right, and I'm the King of Prussia," he said, bringing his burdens over to the bed. "Gambit's always fine," he added to Purdey in a conversational way, "even when he's too drunk to remember how to walk. There was this one time we were in Tokyo..."

"Could we skip the reminiscences and call Steed?" Gambit interrupted. "I really do need to report in."

But Steed, much to Gambit's frustration, hadn't reached the Department yet that morning, and this was one conversation Gambit didn't intend to have without scrambling the signal. He had to settle for a promise from the radio-girl that she would track Steed down and get him to call back as soon as possible.

Gambit flipped the switch on the radio to standby, and scowled at it.

"It's still pretty early in London," Purdey offered. "He's probably on his way."

"Not that early." Gambit rubbed at his forehead, trying to ease the growing headache. His doubts about Terry, not that he really had any, not seriously, were on very thin ice now. Gambit knew every girl in that communications room, and that had definitely been Helena answering his questions -- he'd have flirted with her if he felt better -- she was good at flirting back. So they'd contacted the right building anyway. Probably. "I could use an aspirin," he admitted. Paranoia wasn't his long suit.

"Aspirin?" Terry echoed. "You must be feeling it. I don't think I've ever heard you admit you needed an aspirin, not even after a three day bender."

"I've had hangovers I've enjoyed more," Gambit said. "Though come to think of it, alcohol might help the cough."

Terry went for his hip flask. "Ouzo, I'm afraid, but it'll have to do. My first aid stuff is at the bottom of the Aegean."

"Mine's still the other side of the Wall." Gambit countered, wondering what Terry had been up to this time and knowing better than to ask. "But there ought to be something left in Purdey's kit."

"What kit?" Purdey interrupted her own yawn to ask.

Gambit cocked his head at her. "Didn't I see a red zipper pouch come out of that suitcase of yours?"

"Yes," she said, frowning. "But I thought it was makeup. It felt like makeup." She unfolded herself from the chair where she'd been sitting and crouched by the suitcase, flipping open the locks. In a moment she had the zipper case out and was investigating the contents.

Laughing hurt, and set off a few coughs, but Gambit couldn't help it, seeing the dismay on her face as she pulled a packet of aspirin out from the rest. "You really _didn't_ read the inventory, did you? Not even while I was sleeping?"

"No," she said, disgustedly. "I read fashion magazines. If you want to know what kind of shoes you should have shopped for and which shops to shop for them at six months ago in Frankfurt, I'm your girl." She blushed very nicely, Gambit couldn't help but notice.

"Just as well," he managed not to laugh again, but he couldn't keep from smiling. "Had to keep your cover intact with the nurses walking in and out, and they wouldn't have expected you to be rooting through your suitcase counting stockings."

Coyne went over to collect the aspirin and give her a hand-up. "Didn't you have time to go over it before you left London?"

Purdey shook her head, accepting the help gratefully. "No. Steed had me on that plane so fast my head was still spinning. I was to get Gambit home -- on a stretcher if necessary -- by the next possible flight. But it turned out he can't fly yet. Not until his lung heals up."

Terry frowned. "My instructions are much the same. But if Gambit can't fly..."

"So we'll get new instructions," Gambit said. "The aspirin?"

"Sorry, old sport." Terry took two aspirins from the packet and handed them to Gambit, who would have swallowed them dry if Purdey hadn't headed into the bathroom to refill his glass of water. Terry leaned a little closer, ostensibly to rearrange the pillows holding Gambit up. "Just how new is she?" he asked quietly, casting a worried glance after her.

"Very," Gambit said, just as softly. "But she's managed to get all the important things right. I'm still in one piece, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Coyne asked, picking up the pillow that Gambit had been using as a brace. "Looks to me like you've been leaking."

Gambit grabbed back the pillow and hid the stains before Purdey could see them. "No worse than..." another round of coughs interrupted him, protesting the sudden movement.

"Right," Terry said, shaking his head. "Why is it always me who ends up with the baby?"

* * *

Purdey was a little surprised when Terry Coyne appropriated the medical kit and shanghaied Gambit into the bathroom, but she couldn't help feeling grateful. If she'd learned one thing during that mad dash through the train station last night it was that Gambit was _heavy_. Besides, Terry seemed to know just how to bully the man without stepping on his pride.

Safely alone in the main room she dared to pull up the nightgown and examine her incipient bruises in the mirror. Too bad all of the icepacks had long since melted. She'd be sore for a good long while with this lot. Maybe she could go down the hall while the men were busy...

_First things first._ She lay down on the floor to wangle the envelope out from its hiding place behind the radiator. She was just starting to rise again when another tap on the door nearly startled her out of her skin, but the call of "Room Service" through the thick wooden panels reminded her that she'd sent for breakfast. She stuffed the envelope hastily back into her purse and the purse under the blankets and went to answer the door. The bellhop who was standing there had an entire cart of covered plates, all of them wafting out pleasant odors. Her stomach rumbled impolitely at the prospect, and her nervousness was lost in a sudden wash of greed as he steered the cart into the room and began transferring plates to the table.

"_Good morning, Frau Horrocks_," the boy bobbed like one of the drinking birds in the tourist shops. _"You will sign, please?"_ He held out a slip for her and Purdey signed it hastily, so grateful to the fates that had made him remind her of who she was supposed to be before she wrote "P" instead of "M" that she added a generous tip to the total.

"_I don't have my purse to hand,"_ she apologized mendaciously. It wasn't like there was any money left in it for tips anyway. "_But have Herr Liebermann give the extra to you for me."_

He took back the slip and his eyes widened at the number. The second bob of his head was even deeper. "Danke. Danke schön," he said, and departed with the cart.

The moment he'd gone Terry Coyne pulled the bathroom door open the rest of the way and came out to fetch his suitcase. "Don't forget to lock the door," he reminded Purdey, who had started investigating plates. "We're not going to want interruptions."

"Right," Purdey said around a mouthful of bacon. She was suddenly ravenous. But she made herself go and lock the door before she settled in to filling the hole in her middle. Somewhere in the middle of her breakfast the two men emerged from the bathroom, Gambit looking somewhat better with a fresh shave, although he was nearly as pale as he'd been when she'd first seen him. Terry had rebandaged his chest and arm, and she suspected that he'd taken care of the leg wound as well, though it was impossible to tell since he'd also come up with a pair of striped pyjama bottoms. They weren't Gambit's, Purdey was sure of that much. She'd been into his suitcase more often than her own. "You've been busy," she observed.

Terry got Gambit into the bed before he answered. "Just as easy to work where the water was."

"You'd think after last night I wouldn't need another bath," Gambit said tiredly. "As much as I've sweated though, it's no wonder I feel like a piece of dried cod."

Purdey poured out some orange juice and brought it over to him. "Here."

"Thanks." He drank off half the glass before he brought it down again so he could cough.

"Here." Coyne had come up with a small packet of pills from the medical kit. "Take one of these and then eat something."

"What are those?" Purdey asked.

"A new kind of antibiotic," Coyne said. "One pill a day for five days. But you need to eat something when you take them or they'll give you the... er... they'll upset your stomach."

"And that's one complication we _really_ don't need," Gambit muttered. But he took the pill. "Gah. I hope they do something about the taste before it gets to the market." He drank off the rest of the orange juice as a chaser and handed the glass back to Purdey. "Is there any more?"

"Plenty," she said. "And some chicken soup too." That hadn't been her idea -- she suspected that Margot had left directions for the kitchen -- but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant getting some nutrition into Gambit.

He nodded and closed his eyes, "That'll do."

She dished up some soup for him and poured some more juice, but went back to eating her own breakfast when it became clear that Gambit could manage on his own. The coughing eased and his color improved after a bit -- but she couldn't tell if that were due to the pills, the food, or the liquor. It was enough of an improvement that the worried crease on Terry's forehead smoothed away, though, and he came over to have some food and flirt with her instead of watching over Gambit.

"I hope you haven't taken all your notions of field agents from Mike," he said, dishing himself some scrambled eggs. "Some of us are gentlemen."

"Yeah, and some of us aren't," Gambit put in. "You don't want to fall for an old soldier like Terry. His favorite song is _Auprés de ma Blonde."_

"As if an old sailor like Mike's got anything to boast about. Girl in every port, and all that."

"I'm not planning on falling for anyone, thanks," Purdey informed them archly. "Besides, you'll have to get in line behind my classmates."

Gambit grinned. "If it's priority we're talking about, I'm well ahead, then. Nearly twenty four hours now."

Terry waved the consideration aside. "I've got seniority."

"Signing the roster on the line above mine first day of training does not constitute seniority." Gambit said, and the pair of them wandered off into a discussion of who did what first that threatened to go right back to birthdays. But it was an old argument, cheerfully made, and Purdey watched the two of them batting it back-and-forth with amusement. She was almost sorry when the radio beeped and interrupted them.

Terry reached over and picked up the microphone. "Coyne here."

"Steed," came the polite answer. "Have you located our missing pair, then?"

"They're sitting right here, listening," Terry said. "Gambit's hospital room was bugged, so they switched over to Der Blaue Adler in the middle of the night."

"Ah... yes, I see Josef has opened a running account on the usual bank. Two, in fact."

"Well, I needed to get some sleep and I thought they'd managed to get aboard a train out. Just chance I picked the same hideyhole. Which one of them do you want to talk to first?"

"Purdey."

She tried not to flinch as she took the microphone, but her embarrassment at having forgotten to call in was soon allayed by Steed's breezy dismissal of her apology. "Just as well -- I'd have had to bring another man in to pick up the job Gambit was sent in for anyway, and this way Terry can get the story straight from the horse's mouth instead of trying to pick up details from a report."

"I'll do better next time," she promised herself as much as anyone else.

"You've done well this time," Steed said. "But if you'd rather pass Gambit over to Coyne and fly back now I'll understand."

She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "No, I'm here. I may as well finish what I started."

"Good girl. Just don't forget to call for help if you need it -- reverse the charges if necessary."

"Yes, sir." She handed the microphone over and went to the couch to collect her nerves and stretch out her legs while Gambit took his turn at reporting. A lot of what he was saying was new to her, but with a full stomach and a chance to relax she couldn't really follow along. She was aware of Terry hovering over the couch long enough to cover her with a blanket, and tuck a pillow behind her head, but only long enough to be grateful. She slept.

* * *

Gambit talked until he was hoarse and the low-battery signal had flipped on, making certain that he'd passed along every scrap of information he'd managed to gather. "That's it, except for the photograph. And I can't see taking a chance on checking it for fingerprints here. Even if we stood over the lab tech, I don't think we could be certain the evidence would get "accidentally" destroyed."

"I see," Steed said. "How certain are you that the fingerprints are there?"

"Maybe sixty percent. No more. I wasn't in the best position to watch," Gambit admitted. "And once I'd got my hands on it there wasn't time to try to lift the prints myself. Nor the right equipment."

"All right. Bring it with you. Terry can take care of the rest of it, but I want you, that photograph, and Purdey out of Berlin on the next flight."

Gambit shook his head. "The doctor said no plane trips for a few days. And the way I feel he's probably right."

"The next train, then." Steed ordered. "I'll fly over to meet you in Frankfurt. If I can button up a few things here first, that is."

Terry, who hadn't had any qualms about digging through Purdey's purse once Gambit had mentioned the envelope, took the microphone. "Let them rest a while and go out this afternoon, Steed. From what I can see Purdey's already bought tickets for the 4:00 train to Munich. That will give you a chance to finish your buttoning and me a chance to catch up with myself before I escort them to the station. Besides, if I can get some fresh batteries, I can pass in my report on the Malta business before I get tangled up here."

"The four o'clock train to Munich." Steed acknowledged. "I'll be there to meet it. If you need to contact me after I've left the building, use the hat frequency."

Terry signed off and put the radio away. Gambit looked at him. "We probably could have caught the next train," he said.

"Didn't want to wake Purdey yet," Terry admitted. "She looks like she could use the sleep. And this gives me a few hours to see if I can't get your suit cleaned and run an errand or two."

"And what am I meant to do while you run around doing laundry?" Gambit asked.

"Give that antibiotic a chance to work," Terry said firmly. "Look, I won't be gone long. I don't mean to let anyone know that I've been in contact with you -- not even Liebermann if I can avoid it. But those trousers smell like something died in them."

"Very funny."

"Either that or you've been wearing them for a week," Terry went on. Gambit struggled to sit up, but gave up and chucked a pillow at him instead.

"Just you wait until I've healed. I'll have your hide next time Spence sets us against one another," he warned.

"Not if I can wrestle Purdey first." Terry put a hand over his heart and made googly eyes at the sleeping girl on the couch. "I wouldn't mind getting her on the mat."

Gambit snorted. "From what I saw, you'll end up the worse for it. I've never seen anyone kick like that," he said with a touch of admiration. "She was in the ballet, you know."

Terry let out a low whistle. "I knew the arts could be dull, but never deadly. You think all ballet dancers are like that?"

Gambit cast a fond look at Purdey. "No, I think she's a one-off."

"Pity," Terry lamented. "Last time I needed rescuing Steed sent _Farquharson_. "

Farquharson was quite possibly the ugliest man in the Department, if not the ugliest man in England, but Gambit regretted laughing when the chuckles turned into more coughs. Terry reacted instantly, setting the pillow Gambit had chucked at him against the injured man's side and pulling out the flask of ouzo. "Just a sip," he warned, as he propped Gambit up to drink. "On the other hand, maybe I should stick around."

"I'm okay," Gambit said as soon as he could.

"Well, you sound more like yourself," Terry conceded. "I was beginning to think that fever had boiled your brain." But there was still worry in his eyes behind the gentle teasing.

"I just need to remember not to laugh," Gambit said. "Leave the ouzo here and I'll manage."

"I'll do better than that." Terry put his foot up on the bed and pulled the gun out of his ankle holster. "Here. Try not to shoot me when I come back, all right?"

Gambit nodded, trying not to show how much better he felt with the comfortable shape of a revolver in his hand and knowing Terry would see through him anyway.

"You're the only one who knows where we are. Well, and Steed."

"And Liebermann. And don't count on no one knowing where I am, either. I went nosing around the hospital after I got tossed off the train for not having a ticket. According to their records you're dead."

"I am?" Gambit hadn't expected that.

"Yeah. Heart failure in the middle of the night. The body's in the morgue awaiting autopsy. And Aunt Mabel has gone to a hotel with a sedative. If I hadn't seen you both at the train station I'd have been worried. As it was, I thought you'd bribed the nurses to throw off pursuers." Terry scratched his chin. "Thing is, by the time I left there, I wasn't exactly checking for tails."

That wasn't good. "You could probably just rinse those trousers out in the sink, you know."

"I could, but I still need those batteries. And if they see me out there hunting for you they won't think I've already found you." Terry grinned. "Might as well do things right and get your suit cleaned while I'm at it."

"Doesn't leave me with anything to wear if you get taken out." Gambit's other suit had been cut off him in the emergency room, and the spare outfit was still stashed in East Berlin.

"I'll leave you my suitcase," Terry promised. "You might have to use a belt, but at least my jeans are clean."

"I'll look like I've been in a flood." Gambit had two inches on Terry and most of it was in the legs.

"Yeah, but in a wheelchair it won't matter."

"What wheelchair?"

"The one I'm going to arrange for." Terry only laughed at Gambit's sour expression. "Come on, Mike, what's she meant to do, carry you?" He waved a hand at the sleeping girl. "I knew you tired the ladies out, but this has to be a record."

Gambit managed a grin at that. "She's kept up with me better than most. Steed knows how pick them, I'll give him that." But she did look tired – exhausted really. He didn't remember a lot of the previous night, but he remembered the way she'd fallen asleep leaning against his back. "I don't think I'd have made it this far without her," he admitted fondly.

"You keep admitting you need help and I'll think you've been swapped," Terry warned unalarmed. He went to collect the pieces of Gambit's wardrobe that needed cleaning. "Not much left in this suitcase," he said.

"Combine it with Purdey's and there'll be one less thing for us to carry," Gambit suggested. "I can always get another."

"When I get back," Terry agreed. He collected the room key from the bedtable. "I'll hang out the do not disturb sign, so don't worry about the maid."

"Better knock two and three a couple of times before you turn the key, so I know it's you anyway," Gambit warned. He didn't want to find himself shooting Coyne because he was half asleep, and he knew that once the room got quiet he was going to have trouble staying alert, in spite of the danger.

"Right. Two and three. Hope it won't wake up Purdey." Terry made for the door. He stopped when he reached it, and cast one last look at the sleeping girl. "Keep an eye on her, eh?"

"I intend to," Gambit assured him.

"And take of yourself while you're at it, Mike. Can't very well humiliate you in the gym if you're laid up, can I?"

"I'm _okay_," Gambit said with exaggerated patience, and then grinned when Terry made an elaborate bow as acknowledgement. "Well, okay for the next twenty minutes or so anyway. Now bugger off. The sooner you get out of here the sooner you'll get back so I can sleep."

* * *

Purdey roused a couple of times, hearing voices, although whenever she pried open an eye to check it was only Gambit and Coyne, so she could ignore them and go back to sleep. But she couldn't ignore it when someone started rocking her shoulder gently. "Purdey. Purdey-girl."

"Mmm," she groaned, and tried to roll away. She'd forgotten she was on the couch, and might've ended up an untidy heap on the floor if a pair of hands hadn't caught her and held her back. Her eyes snapped open, and she was surprised to blearily make out Gambit's features. He smiled at her.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Afternoon?" Purdey pushed herself up to a sitting position and covered a yawn. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Long enough, I hope," Gambit informed her. He was installed in an armchair that had been set next to the couch, already dressed in slacks and shirt, and looking a lot more human than she felt at the moment. "It's half past two. We've got to get ready if we're going to make our train."

"Looks like you've already done that," she said.

"Terry obliged," Gambit said, nodding at the other agent, who was busy with crockery at the table.

"Just like playing with my kid sister's paperdolls," Terry said, grinning back at her over his shoulder. "Cream or sugar in your coffee? It's only instant, I'm afraid."

"None for me thanks," Purdey said, pulling a face. "I don't drink coffee."

"You will once you start taking regular assignments," Gambit said knowingly.

"If I made it through Swan Lake without coffee, I doubt chasing after men who haven't learned how to dodge is going to change my mind."

"Tea then?" Terry asked. "The water's hot, and there are some bags left from breakfast."

"That would be lovely, thank you. Just sugar, though." Purdey craned her neck a little, wondering where Terry had come up with the electric carafe. "I don't suppose anything else is left from breakfast?"

"Just some rolls and jam," Terry said. "No, don't get up -- we've got to have a powwow, might as well do it now." He brought over two cups and distributed them. "Here."

Purdey took her cup and sipped at it. "Not bad."

"Oh, I'm thoroughly housebroken, I am," Terry grinned. "Make some lucky girl a wonderful husband." He pulled Gambit's suitjacket off the back of a chair and held it up. "Cookery, stitchery..."

"Foolery," Gambit added, passing his coffee to Purdey long enough to allow Terry to help him into the jacket.

"It's an advantage to be versatile," Terry said, quirking an eyebrow at Purdey. "Don't you think?"

"Yes," she said, hiding a grin. "If you're planning on hiring on as a housekeeper."

"Spang!" Terry pantomimed being heartstruck and gave Gambit a doleful look. "Here I am, working my fingers to the bone..."

"Stow it," Gambit advised cheerfully. "We're not in the market. Not yet." He winked, and Purdey laughed.

"I'm not in the market at all, thanks. I can cook for myself." It was amazing how much better she felt after a few hours of sleep. More like herself at any rate, and less vulnerable to Gambit's grin. Or the twinkle in those sea-blue eyes. Maybe a _little_ vulnerable to the way that his suit had been tailored -- she hadn't been able to study his shoulders from a decent distance last night, and it was a very nice job of tailoring -- but a proper nap had restored her sense of balance.

Terry brought over the bread and jam, and then went to fetch the other armchair, which had been propped in front of the door into the hallway sometime during the morning. Purdey vaguely remembered seeing Terry dozing there, and guessed that he'd been tagged with guard duty while she caught up a little on her sleep.

"So," she said, once they'd both had a few sips of coffee and she'd demolished a slice of bread with jam. "What do we do now?"

"I go tie up a few loose ends and then get you two onto that train," Terry said, flashing her a smile. "I hope you don't mind that I've taken a few things from your suitcase."

"Since I barely know what's in there, I can scarcely object, can I?" she said. Then curiosity got the better of her. "What did you take?"

"Oh, the girdle, the blue dress, a pair of stockings... Just the usual sort of thing."

Purdey gave him a top to toe once-over, her eyebrow high. "I don't think they'd fit you any better than they fit me."

Terry grinned. "Oh, they're not for me. They're for the tail I picked up while I was chasing around trying to find out what had happened to you two. I figure he's going to have a very hard time explaining himself to the police if I leave him... er... disguised."

Purdey could just imagine it. "Don't forget to take my lipstick," she advised. "That's even harder to explain."

Gambit shook his head, but he was grinning too. "Not as hard as eyeshadow."

Terry's square face took on an air of absolutely fiendish delight. "You'd be the one to know," he smirked.

Purdey tried not to giggle as Gambit eyed the blond agent with mock disdain. "That," he said, his stern air somewhat impaired by the smile that was still lingering on his lips, "was _business_ Which we still have to attend to, if you recall."

Terry winked at Purdey. "I'll tell you about it later."

"_Budapest_," Gambit intoned, earning an alarmed look from Terry. "You're not the only one who's got a tale or two to tell, old boy."

That was the end of Purdey. She put her head back and laughed. "Honestly, the pair of you!"

"Well, if a job like this can't be fun..." they chorused, and then broke up as well.

Gambit's laugh, inevitably, turned into a cough, which sobered the other two. But he managed to get it under control with the last of the ouzo from Terry's flask and a lot of determination, and the grin he gave them both was cocky. "Better than it was last night," he said.

Purdey wasn't so sure. The coughs seemed deeper to her. But there was no denying that Gambit's forehead felt cool, and his color was good. "I'd feel better if we could get Dr. Buchheim to look you over," she admitted.

"No chance of that," Terry said. "Buchheim was poisoned last night. He's in serious condition over at the Franklin Institute -- and lucky that his wife refused to let him think it was the flu."

Purdey's eyes opened wide. "Poisoned?"

Gambit patted her hand. "Don't you think he would have made a stir if I'd disappeared out of the hospital?"

She bit her lip. Gambit was right -- Dr. Buchheim would definitely have made complications if the kidnapping plot had worked -- as long as he wasn't in on it. She just wasn't sure how she felt about the reminder that it wasn't just the players in the game who were in danger, but bystanders as well. "I hope he'll be all right."

Gambit smiled. "When we're safe at home we can check back and see," he promised. "In the meantime..."

"In the meantime we'll have to rely on long distance advice," Terry said. "Steed's promised to have a wheelchair delivered -- you'll have to sign for it Purdey -- and he's going to have some prescriptions for Gambit called over, too. The name of the druggist is written on the ticket packet, just in case, but hopefully I'll be able to pick them up and get back here before you need to leave for the station. But I'll have to head out pretty soon," Terry collected himself after a glance at his watch. "If I'm not back in time..." he said.

"If you're not back in time we'll handle it," Gambit said. "Sure you don't want all those extra tickets now?"

"Not until I'm sure you're not going to need them," Terry said. He drained his coffee cup and got to his feet. He nodded to Purdey, "Keep an eye on Mike, will you? He owes me money."

As soon as Terry had gone, Purdey started collecting the cups and plates. "Don't worry about those," Gambit said. "All you need to do is get ready. Unless you're particularly attached to that nightgown. Doesn't do your legs justice, though."

Purdey rolled her eyes, but forbore to comment. There was no use encouraging him. "Do you think you'll be all right if I take a shower?"

"That's why we woke you up now," Gambit said. "Go on. You'll feel more human if you're clean, and the things you hung on the bathroom door were dry last time Terry checked."

"Right." Purdey rooted through the pile of things that Terry had made on the bed until she found the things she needed to deal with her hair. "Give me half an hour."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Purdey eased open the bathroom door and poked her damp head out to check on Gambit. He was still in the armchair--moving around unassisted was something he couldn't afford anymore. He'd pushed much too hard already. The most he'd been able to manage while she was showering was getting his shoes and stockings on by himself. _Small triumphs are better than none._ He smiled at her and waved reassuringly.

"Ready?"

"Just about. My hair." She gestured vaguely at the soggy auburn straggles. "What's all this about prescriptions?" she asked as she located the hotel's hair dryer and switched it on.

"Steed called in Dr. Kendrick," Gambit began.

"What?" Purdey yelled over the roar.

Gambit sighed. Unless he was prepared to shout the arrangements, he had to get in hearing range. After all, there were enough risks involved without broadcasting everything to anyone in a five block radius. He took a deep breath, somehow managed to get himself upright, and made his way slowly for the bathroom. Purdey almost dropped the dryer when he came through the door, rushing to support him. "Are you mad?" she scolded.

"Only a little," he managed. "Blame Steed--I think some of his eccentricity is rubbing off on me."

"You could have worse role models," Purdey allowed, putting down the lid on the loo, and getting Gambit ensconced before going back to styling her hair with dryer and brush. "You were saying?"

"Steed's getting advice from Kendrick. You know him don't you?"

"Yes -- he did my physical."

"Right, well Terry read Steed a song and dance about how awful I looked and Steed said he'd get Kendrick to do a long distance diagnosis."

"What kind of prescriptions are they likely to be?" Purdey asked. "And how soon are you likely to need them?"

"Codeine," Gambit elaborated, "and some traditional antibiotics, at the request of dear old Uncle John." The tone on the last two words suggested Gambit had less than warm feelings for Steed's ultimatum.

"Well, if you're half as tired as you sound, we've got to get something," Purdey pointed out logically.

"I'm not nearly that tired," Gambit protested. "It's just the coughing takes it out of me. But I'll fetch you home in one piece."

"It's the other way 'round, remember?" Purdey pointed out. "It's my job to get _you_ home in one piece."

"Too late for that," Gambit retorted. "Besides, I told you that I'd just as soon not have your blood on my hands, and I intend keep it that way -- even if I have to drag you back to London."

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "How? Cough me into submission? Germ warfare?"

"I could fall on you," Gambit suggested with a twinkle in his eye. "By accident, of course. Spend a nice afternoon on top. And if I did it right, good old Terry might jump to the wrong conclusions and let us alone for a bit."

Purdey snorted. "You'll have to try better than that. You're not that heavy."

"Oh, good. I was worried the schnitzel was getting to me."

Purdey shook her head, and swapped the dryer for the can of hairspray she'd found in her suitcase. "If I'm going to last in this job," she told the mirror as she fussed with the brush a moment longer, "I'm going to need a practical hairdo. Curls are too high-maintenance."

Gambit ran a hand through his own set of thick, dark curls with a cocky grin. "Not when they're natural," he told her. "Don't even have to brush if you're in a hurry."

Purdey started shaking the can absentmindedly, still thinking about alternative styles. "Not everyone was blessed with, what, lovely Welsh genes?" she hazarded to Gambit's reflection.

"Partly," Gambit allowed. "But the curls are courtesy of my Irish Gran."

"I see," Purdey murmured, looking Gambit over as subtly as possible, thinking that the pair mixed well. "The Scots in me wasn't nearly so obliging." She started spraying.

"Scots wha' ha', hey? Is that where you got the red?"

Purdey wrinkled her nose at his reflection to express her opinion of the pun. "No, I got that from my other Grandmother -- same bottle. No one takes blondes seriously."

"Depends on the blonde," Gambit said, grinning unrepentantly. "Still, a touch of Scotland explains those big blue eyes of yours -- you could do a fair bit of damage with them." He flinched as a cloud of hairspray washed over him in the tiny bathroom and tried to wave it away but the chemical made him choke, and started another round of coughing. "Careful with that stuff. Ginger or blonde, you don't need your hair to look like a bloody helmet."

Purdey stopped hurriedly and opened the door wider to let the air circulate, crouching beside him as his body shuddered with each cough. "I forgot," she apologised, waving her arms to clear the air.

Gambit shook his head. "'S okay," he managed, but kept coughing.

"No, it's not," Purdey retorted, moving to help him up, to get him out of the confines of the bathroom. She got him as far as the bed, but he didn't stop coughing, and Purdey wondered belatedly if the can had held ordinary hairspray. She threw open the window and looked around desperately for something to help control the coughs, but came up as empty as Terry's flask. Then, she remembered some of her basic first-aid training, and had an idea. If she could just get the chemicals _out_ of the man...

She knelt so she was level with Gambit's face. "Try to push all the bad air out of your lungs," she told him. "Exhale, and then inhale when I tell you." Gambit frowned, but managed to force his lungs to empty. Purdey took a deep breath, and put her mouth to his, hoping to fill his lungs through the same principles as CPR. He didn't respond on the first breath but she kept at it, until the coughing slowed down, and she felt Gambit begin to return the gesture in kind.

She was fairly certain his hand didn't need to curl around her waist. She told herself that he was fine, that she could stop now, but she still hadn't convinced herself when she vaguely imagined that she heard the door of the room opening.

"I should have known," came Terry's voice. "I can't leave you alone for 20 minutes."

Purdey broke away so quickly that Gambit lost his balance and flopped backwards onto the bed with a pleasantly stunned expression. "Mouth-to-mouth," he wheezed. "Lungs got clouded."

"That's a new one," Terry said in a way that conveyed his lack of belief. He cocked a skeptical eyebrow at Purdey. "And I suppose he was checking that your tonsils were healthy."

Purdey was too busy trying to get her pulse to slow down to think of a reasonable retort. "He was coughing. My hairspray," she said lamely.

"Well, if you keep up like that, Mike's going to start snorting the stuff." Terry settled down on the edge of the bed. "Unfortunately, we've got bigger problems."

"What kind of problems?" Purdey wanted to know, now that she had recovered her senses enough to start forming sentences.

"Took me longer to dump my unfriendly than I hoped it would, and when I got to the chemist's I spotted a man lurking a little too carefully near the prescriptions window. Had to settle for buying sundries instead of the prescriptions, or I'd have led him straight back here. As it is, he's still watching the shop. And if you two stop to get the prescriptions he'll follow you straight to the train." Terry looked grim.

"No problem." Gambit still looked a little giddy. Whether it was from the kiss or the hairspray was debatable. "Don't need medicine. I feel perfectly fine..." He waved away the difficulty airily with one hand, and then grimaced when the movement set off still another round of coughing.

"Bloody hell, Mike," Terry helped Purdey prop him up against the pillows. "You keep overexerting yourself and you'll end up leaving Berlin in a box."

"'M okay," Gambit managed a small grin. "'Sides, it was worth it." He waggled his eyebrows at Purdey and she smiled in spite of herself.

Terry shook his head, but he was smiling too. "Dancing on cloud nine by the look of things. You don't happen to have a large mallet, do you?" he asked Purdey. "I'd like to bring him back to earth."

"Are you sure there's not one in my suitcase?" she answered pertly. "If we can't get the prescriptions, what can we do next?"

"Call Steed, I suppose. You go down and wait for the wheelchair to get delivered while -- wait..."

Terry's ears were quicker than hers, Purdey realized, as a knocking came at the hotel door. She heard the scrape of a key in the lock and before she could move or argue the blond agent had caught her and pulled her with him into the closet, one hand coming up to cover her mouth while the other dove into his coat and emerged with a service revolver.

"Frau Horrocks? Mike?" Margot's melodious voice made Purdey stiffen, even as she felt Terry relaxing. "_Oh, Mike, you are awake -- and dressed!"_ She fell into German and Gambit answered her in the same language.

_"Hello, Margot. Yes. Mabel... Auntie Mabel... has stepped out to see about plane tickets. I want to go home."_

_"Already? But you have hardly been here long enough..."_ Terry eased the closet door open a crack and Purdey could see Margot cross to the bed and sit down on it. The German girl laid a hand alongside Gambit's face caressingly. _"And I had hopes of taking care of you myself, you know."_

He took her hand from his face and held it in both of his. "_You always take good care of me, Margot. But I'm afraid I'm in no condition to enjoy it right now."_ He closed his eyes for a moment, holding in another cough, it looked like.

Margot reached up with her free hand to check his forehead and cheek. _"You are not so feverish, not as you were in the night."_

_"No, but I haven't got the energy to keep up with you."_ He smiled at her. _"Still, there's something you could do for me, if you would."_

_"What is it?"_ Purdey dug her nails into her palms. Even Margot's voice sounded like a caress. And Gambit was eating it up, or acting like he was.

_"My doctor, the one in England, he called some prescriptions into a chemist named Durkleheim. You know the shop?"_

_"It is just a few streets away."_

_"They're under the name Michael Smith, but they're for me. Could you fetch them, please?"_ He fought down a cough, and looked up at her wistfully. _"And maybe some cough syrup?"_

"Clever lad," Terry whispered approvingly near Purdey's ear, and she became aware of his arms around her waist, and his thumb travelling thoughtfully over the hand she'd instinctively wrapped around to join his. It was a very nice sensation indeed, like the warmth of his breath on her neck, and she wondered just how long her resolution to keep her professional distance from her colleagues was going to last in the face of the kind of underhanded tactics that field agents seemed to be good at employing.

She'd missed Margot's reply, but she didn't miss the kiss -- more than a friendly peck, but less passionate than it might have been. Margot fetched Gambit the glass of water from the nightstand and saw him comfortable before she rose to go. _"Oh, and before I forget, there is a wheelchair which must be for you on its way to be delivered. The company called to doublecheck the address. Tell Frau Horrocks that it must be signed for, please."_

_"I'll send her down as soon as I see her_," Gambit promised. He closed his eyes and leaned a little into the last stroke of her hand against his face, but then at last she was gone.

Purdey would have said something, but Terry whispered, "Wait," and they stayed in the closet a few moments longer, listening for the ding of the elevator. At last, reluctantly, he let her go. "Check to make sure the coast is clear," he told her, and Purdey hastened to do so, but the corridor was safely empty. She returned to Terry, and shook her head to indicate that it was safe. "Good," he said. "Now wait a minute, and then go down for the wheelchair. Margot'll be leaving pretty quick, and if she doesn't see you, she won't have reason to suspect we've been spying on her."

"Why should she think at all?" Purdey wanted to know. "She's too preoccupied with _other things_. " She shot a look at Gambit, who wasn't looking too repentant. "Not that she hasn't been encouraged."

"It's not her brains that caught my eye," that worthy rasped cheerfully. "Don't worry about Margot. She can pull off a trip to the chemist's standing on her head."

"You should know," Terry said with a grin, resting a friendly hand on Purdey's shoulder. "He's quite selfish, really. Doesn't leave any for the rest of us," he confided.

"You just need to learn to dance something a little newer than the Twist," Gambit told Terry. "Two left feet," he added to Purdey. "Small wonder he can't get the girls. I keep telling him that he needs to practice his technique. You don't meet dates at chess tournaments."

"_You_ don't," Terry said equably. "I _do_."

"Maybe so," Gambit didn't really have a lot of energy for bantering, it was clear, although he seemed determined to keep his end up. "It's easier for a girl to see if a fellow's got the right moves on a dance floor, though."

"If a _fellow's_ not careful, he might overindulge and get himself in trouble," Purdey said pointedly, adjusting the pillows behind his head so he could lie back more comfortably.

"Part of the job," he said by way of explanation. "Don't want to shirk duty, do I? Who knows when he might need to 'investigate' a modern Mata Hari?"

"In that case, half of Britain must be working for the enemy," Purdey muttered, cryptically, her thoughts returning to the little black book. "I'm going for the chair. Terry, would you mind cleaning up the room?"

"Your wish is my command," Terry said, sweeping her a bow.

"And as for you," she said to Gambit. "Unless it's life and death, I don't want you to twitch as much as a hair. I'm not doing any more mouth-to-mouth."

Gambit pretended to look hurt, but didn't succeed. He threw her an awkward salute from his position on the bed. "Aye, aye, ma'am." _Again with the Cockney!_ From behind his back, Terry rolled his eyes expressively. Purdey just smiled before leaving the room. As she closed the door, she could just make out Terry's voice.

"You're shameless, aren't you Mike?"

* * *

Purdey signed for the chair in the lobby. Margot had thankfully taken her leave, and by the time Purdey had manhandled the wheelchair into the lift, the German bombshell had yet to return. Purdey wished that the girl wasn't needed for the pills. She would have been quite happy to leave without notice, otherwise. Margot would live. Unfortunately.

Terry had finished packing when she got back. He'd consolidated everything they'd need into her suitcase, Gambit's shoulder bag and her purse, to make maneuvering easier. Gambit was in much the same position he had been in when she left and dozing. Purdey sighed with relief. Terry must have convinced him to take it easy, somehow. She hoped the effect would last. Side benefits aside, the fright she'd got from his reaction to the hairspray hadn't quite worn off. There wasn't much chance of making it home if they couldn't avoid battering Gambit's poor, abused body any further.

She pushed in the chair, and closed the door behind her. "Christmas come early," she told Gambit, who had opened one eye and was observing her acquisition with distaste.

"I would've preferred the coal," he grumbled.

"I'll remember that, come the season of giving," Terry told him with a grin. "Everything's ready," he went on. "Just need Margot with the pills, and then I'll tail you to the station."

"We could wait in the lobby," Gambit suggested. "Catch Margot as she comes in. Saves time."

"That's probably best," Terry agreed. "But you'll have to wait without me. Can't have anyone seeing us together."

"Then this is good-bye," Purdey surmised, crossing the room to where he stood.

"'Fraid so. It's been a pleasure, Purdey. Hope to see you when I get back."

"You will," Purdey promised. "Thank you, Terry. For everything." And she leaned in to give him a brief kiss, just to show she really meant it. The fact that Gambit was watching made his little dalliance with Margot that much more bearable. She could swear she could hear his jaw drop from the bed.

Terry blinked in surprise, and then grinned broadly and wrapped one arm around her waist. He promptly proved that he did know how to dance by swirling her through a few steps and dipping her backwards in a strong embrace like the hero in an old musical. "You know," he said in a stage whisper as they held the pose for Gambit's benefit. "We could make a run for it. Just you and me. Off to some warmer climes."

Purdey widened her eyes to look as innocent as possible, going along, although his conspiratorial wink made her want to giggle. "What about Gambit?"

Terry shrugged. "He's dead weight. Between the two of us, it'd be fairly easy to get rid of him with a pillow."

Purdey shot a look at Gambit, who was looking a bit pinched, his jaw set tightly. "But we'd be suspected," she went on, playing it up for all she was worth.

"Mike's in rough shape. Who's to say it wasn't peaceful, in his sleep?"

Gambit was eyeing the wheelchair again. Why the hell had Purdey parked it so far from the bed? He hated being so helpless. With the chair he could at least run over Terry's foot or something. He gave up. "Very funny," he snapped. "Purdey, a little help?"

Purdey looked back to Terry and pretended resignation. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass. Maybe another time?"

"I'm counting on it." He put her back on her feet with alacrity and went to haul Gambit out of bed. "One last chance to wash up, old bean," he said, aiming the injured man at the bathroom.

Purdey took the chance to root through the pile of rejects that Terry had dumped into Gambit's suitcase, just to make sure none of her own scant belongings would be left behind. Extra socks, extra knickers, most of the miscellaneous items from her kit and his, including the small makeup kit that had come in the purse -- on the whole he'd done a good job of sorting out the chaff. The kit held pots and tubes of makeup in such hideous hues that she was certain it had to have been picked by someone who didn't care, but she found a lipstick that wasn't completely horrible and went to the mirror to make sure her face was in order.

"Here," Terry said, as he came back into the main room. "I forgot to give you these back." He tossed her her own eyeliner and lipstick and she sighed with relief.

"Much better," she said, making quick work of using both. "How about Gambit?"

"Brushing his teeth in case he gets lucky again," Terry said with a grin. "I must say you're a good influence on that lad."

"Lad?" Purdey said. "You're not that much older than he is, are you?"

"All of ten minutes, as near as we ever calculated," Terry smirked. "I told you I have seniority. But that means I've got to look out for the little bu..." He swallowed the word, changed gears abruptly. "Anyway, I wanted a chance to talk to you in private. Kendrick's worried about that lung collapsing again, so he asked me to pick up a few things." He fetched over the bag of 'sundries'. "I shoplifted the hypodermic, mind you. Didn't want to ask for it. If Mike goes blue on you, or he just can't get his breath you go in through the hole where the chest tube was, try to pull out any air or pus you find. The hydrogen peroxide's to try to keep things clean, and the lancet's in case you need to make a new hole. If you do get air, tape one of the condoms over the top of it with a slit in the middle to act like an air valve. Okay?"

Purdey surveyed the contents of the bag with dismay. Her first aid training hadn't got nearly far enough to give her any confidence in her comprehension of the instructions, but she could see that Terry meant her to follow them. "You're not joking, are you?"

Terry shook his head. "Chances are you won't have to do anything. I picked up this lot strictly in case of emergencies."

"What lot?" Gambit asked from the bathroom door.

"Just a few things I might need if you get fresh," Purdey told him airily, as she tucked the bag into her purse.

"Chocolates, brandy," Terry added, "a cattle prod to keep you in line..."

"Brandy sounds good," Gambit said, but he didn't press the point. He was working too hard at staying upright. Terry and Purdey exchanged a look of mutual exasperation before the older agent went to help Gambit into the wheelchair, and Purdey turned to collect the luggage. Once Gambit was settled, she put the suitcase into his lap, her purse on one shoulder and Gambit's carry-on on the other. That done, she started pushing the chair toward the door, and then paused to take one last look around the room. "I think this is it."

"It is. You two keep an eye on each other," Terry said, having collected the last traces of their stay into Gambit's discarded suitcase. "I mean to have a few drinks with you when I get home."

Gambit reached over to shake the man's hand. "You're the one who needs to be careful," he ordered. "They've already done a job on me. I'd rather they didn't repeat the performance."

Terry nodded. "I'll be okay. Now get going." There was a last look, one that communicated much more than either man would say. Then Purdey pushed Gambit out the door.

* * *

Margot had just entered the lobby when Purdey and Gambit left the lift. She hurried over to them.

"I have the pills, mein Liebling," she told Gambit breathlessly, nodding at Purdey. "I am sorry it took so long."

Gambit waved it off. "Thanks Margot," he said as he took the paper bag.

"You are leaving?" Margot said quietly.

"Just about. Aunt Mabel needs to check out." He looked meaningfully at Purdey, who reluctantly left Gambit to go to the reception desk, where a young woman took care of the arrangements. She watched Gambit talk to Margot, the former calm and collected, the latter looking a little upset, although putting on a brave front. There was one last kiss, one which Margot accepted with relish. By the time Purdey returned, everything had been said. Almost everything.

Margot delved into her purse and produced a bottle. "I forgot to purchase the cough syrup, but I have here most of a bottle of Schnaps," she explained. "It is not _good_ Schnaps, but if the Luftwaffe could use it to fuel bombers in the war, it will do for medicine."

She handed it to Gambit, who took a swig and pulled a face. "Lovely," he wheezed. "I knew there was a reason I'd rather buy the beer."

"I never said the bombers came back," Margot's words were cheerful, but her smile was brittle and her eyes suspiciously bright. "But you will, yes? And next time you are in Berlin, I will make it up to you."

"I'm looking forward to it," Gambit reassured her.

"I'll bet," Purdey muttered. "Thank you for all your help, Margot," she said, offering the other woman her hand. "Now we really must be going or we'll miss our flight."

"Yes," Margot accepted the handshake with an expression that Purdey felt was a bit odd, although she couldn't pin down quite why. "Good-bye to you both." With that, Margot moved to the reception desk. Purdey pushed Gambit's chair out of the hotel and let the porter flag down a cab. After they were settled, she couldn't help but feel uneasy about the girl. She shook it off. Gambit wasn't worried, and Terry was going to make sure they weren't followed.

* * *

At the station the cab driver helped her get Gambit into the wheelchair, and Purdey felt a moment of panic when she remembered she'd have to pay him. But fortunately, someone -- Terry no doubt -- had thought to stuff a bundle of marks into her purse. With a fat tip as incentive there was no trouble in getting a porter to do the work of wheeling Gambit through the station either. Their train wasn't on the departure board yet, so she had the porter park the wheelchair near a high-backed bench and paid him.

The smell of hot sausages reminded her how long it had been since the bacon and eggs, and she looked over to the coffeestand longingly. "Think you'll be all right for a minute?" she asked Gambit.

He opened his eyes and scratched his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. What's up?"

"Since I can afford it, I thought I'd get us some sausage rolls for the trip."

His face lit up. "Sausages? Sounds good. And coffee too, please, if they have any."

She patted his shoulder and crossed the half dozen yards to stand in line, trying not to be obtrusive about the way she was looking around the station. The four o'clock train was sold out, according to a sign over the ticket counters, and the station was crowded with travellers, none of whom were paying any attention to her or Gambit. She saw Terry come in the far doors, his motorcycle helmet under his arm, and firmly resisted the temptation to wave at him. Gambit was watching the passing crowds too, and she envied the open way that he people-watched. No one could believe that he was suspicious of anyone with that vacant expression on his face, but his eyes were taking in everything.

She made her purchases quickly; Wurstsemmeln, the mildest-looking sausage slices she could find on a plain kaiser roll, for the man with the recalcitrant stomach -- and something called Currywurst, sausage slices drowned in tomato sauce and generously dusted with curry powder, for herself -- as well as drinks for each of them. She brought the lot back to Gambit balanced on a flimsy cardboard tray. Overhead, the departure board began to clatter as it was updated, and the sound almost drowned out his whisper of "Seven o'clock. Do you see her?" as she bent down to give him his share.

"Seven o'clock?" Purdey repeated, puzzled.

"Straight ahead is twelve, right is three, back is six, left is nine. Look to your present seven. The redhead." Gambit's expression betrayed nothing of what he was saying, and she doubted anyone more than a foot away could hear the low-voice he used.

Purdey turned and settled herself on the bench, taking a sip of the tea she'd chosen for herself instead of coffee. With a little searching she could make out the person he meant. A buxom redhead, who raised her head just at the wrong moment and met Purdey's eyes. "The nurse from the hospital," Purdey growled. "And she knows she's been spotted now. What do we do?"

"Signal Terry somehow. Maybe you can go visit the ladies'."

"I'm not going out of arm's reach, thanks." She put her tea back on the tray and set the whole thing on Gambit's lap. "Think he'll get the idea if we just keep staring at her?"

Gambit made a noise that might have meant he was holding back a cough or a laugh. Either way, he didn't seem to be willing to risk it. "If she doesn't get nervous just from being glared at," he said.

"If she gets nervous, she'll leave." Purdey said, giving the departure board a glance and seeing their train track listed. They had fifteen minutes left to board. She got off the bench and went to stand behind Gambit's chair, putting a possessive arm around his shoulders and fixing the redhead with a look of pure poison. Gambit looked at her too, and between them the woman quickly turned away and pretended indifference. Terry appeared from behind a pile of suitcases, asking a question with an incline of his head, and Gambit nodded, ever so slightly. In a moment the blond man had crossed over to "accidentally" stumble into the nurse, knocking her purse to the floor and spilling its contents. Instantly half a dozen of the young prostitutes and pickpockets who haunted the station darted in to grab anything of value. The nurse screeched and tried to protect her belongings as the crowd surged over to see what was happening.

"_Now!"_ Gambit told Purdey, getting up from the wheelchair and grabbing the suitcase handle with his free hand. He pushed the food tray into her hands and hustled her towards the platform.

"But... the chair..." she protested.

"We'll get another one in Munich," he said. "I'm good for a hundred yards. I damn well better be, anyway."

Gambit was breathing hard by the time he'd climbed onto the train and he stopped as soon as they were in the corridor to put down the suitcase and lean against the nearest wall.

"Here," Purdey told him, impatiently. "You take the food. I'll carry the suitcase."

"Which berth are we in?" he gasped, fighting back the desire to cough. He found Margot's bottle again and took a quick drink to quiet his throat.

She looked at the ticket in her hand. "Seven A... No, wait, that's the ticket for this morning." She dug into her purse again. "Ah. Eight B."

He looked up and down the corridor. "I'm not sure if that's forrard or aft," he admitted.

"Hang on," Purdey said. "There's a conductor. I'll ask."

The conductor, observing Gambit's pallor, took charge of the suitcase and led them through the next two cars. The attendant there saw them settled in his own tiny cubbyhole while he went ahead to make up the berths in their cabin for them. By the time the train started to move, Gambit was taking more pulls at the bottle of Schnaps than he was taking bites of his sandwich and Purdey had worked her way through her own food and was thinking of starting in on what remained of his after the little he'd managed to get down. She took the Schnaps from him instead and put the coffee in his hand. "You still need to take your medications," she reminded him. "And I don't think this stuff will go well with codeine."

"It doesn't go well with anything," Gambit admitted with a frown. "Nasty stuff. But it's better than coughing."

"Codeine will help with that, if I remember rightly," Purdey said.

He nodded and rubbed at his face again. "I think you're right." He tugged the paper bag with the prescriptions out of his pocket and shook a pill out of each bottle. "Here's hoping." He followed them with a swig of coffee and sighed.

She reached over to touch his face. "You don't feel feverish," she said. "That's something anyway."

"Just a little tired. And I want a proper shower," he added, scratching his scalp. "I'm glad Steed's going to meet us at the other end. You know that nurse is going to call ahead."

"So will Terry, won't he?" Purdey pointed out. She leaned out into the corridor and checked both ways. "And I haven't seen anyone lurking here on the train. Not yet anyway."

"Good."

The attendant came out of their cabin and back to where they were waiting, beaming at Purdey the whole way. "_Now, meine Dama, you shall be comfortable for the trip."_

_"Thank you_." Purdey had the tip ready, and she pressed it into his hand, along with the ticket, as soon as he'd lent his support to Gambit's unsteady progress down the rocking train. But at last Gambit was safely settled against a pile of pillows on the lower bunk, and their bags were tucked into the racks.

Purdey decided that she'd best grab a moment for herself in the tiny restroom at the end of the corridor while she had the chance. Her nerves were jangling again, so she took the Schnaps along, meaning to get in a belt or two before she saw to her teeth. But even one drink was too much. It really was a dreadful concoction -- almost nothing like the stuff she had snuck once or twice from her father's liquor cabinet. How Gambit had got through nearly a third of the pint so quickly she didn't know, unless he'd killed his tastebuds after the first few sips. She was "spilling" the remainder of the bottle down the sink with a certain satisfaction that had nothing to do with removing the temptation to get nicely sozzled from Gambit when she realized that the train was stopping.

After the first moment of panic, Purdey remembered that Gambit had mentioned something about the border. The rail line ran through East Germany, and the East Germans kept a close eye on the trains to prevent defections. Volkspolizei -- railroad police -- rode along on each train in the Communist sector, according to the tourist guide. But that didn't mean that there was no danger. _That nurse. She could have called already, could have the Volkspolizei waiting to arrest us, or even have someone pretending to be a western border official do the same thing. Damn. I shouldn't have left Gambit on his own. Let's hope they start at the other end of the train._ Purdey collected her things quickly and opened the door into the corridor, but she was too late. Two men in blue uniforms were already at the door of their cabin, and knocking.

_"Open up,"_ one of them said harshly, and Purdey froze, visions of Gambit being hauled off to some dingy prison dancing in front of her eyes. She wanted to run... they'd chase her if she did, and that would give Gambit time. But time to do what? She doubted that he had the strength left to get off the train by himself, much less to find his way back to Terry.

_"What is causing the delay?"_ The Volkspolizei officer said impatiently.

Nothing for it. Purdey would have to brazen it out.

"Oh, dear," she said, "Just a moment! I'm coming, I'm coming." She fluttered down the corridor to the guards, glad that she must look as flustered as she felt. "I'm sorry. I was just in the... I had to..." She waved a hand back at the WC.

The younger guard blushed, but the older man, merely eyed her with a neutrally official expression. "_The conductor said there are __**two**__ people assigned this cabin,"_ he said sternly.

"Pardon?" Purdey pretended to have to work out the sentence so she could get closer to the door and when she answered she spoke as loudly as she dared, hoping Gambit could hear her. "Oh. Yes, Zwei. That's 'two', isn't it? Yes, there are two of us, but my companion has been injured, and has just taken his medicines. He can't get out of bed without my help." She fumbled through her purse for the key. "Just a moment..."

"Mabel, is that you?" Gambit's call took one of the knots of tension out of her spine. "What's going on?"

Purdey unlocked the door and opened it just enough to look inside. Gambit had clearly tried to get up, and then sprawled back onto the lower berth in a hurry, but he'd tugged a blanket up so that it covered most of his body from about mid-chest on down, and he was doing a good imitation of an invalid. "We're at the border, Michael. Your German is better than mine; do you think you're awake enough to talk to these men?" The guards were eyeing her unhappily, and she could only hope that she could slam the door shut and locked fast enough if she had to.

But Gambit crooked up a corner of his mouth. "Sure, love." He shifted uncomfortably and added. "Come on over here and give me a hand will you? The pillows are in the wrong place and my back is killing me."

Purdey crossed her fingers mentally. The guards looked genuine enough, and neither had made any move to grab her or force their way in, although she could tell they were wondering what she was hiding behind the half-open door. Heart pounding even as she smiled, she opened it the rest of the way and went to bend over Gambit and rearrange the pillows. The men stepped into the opening, and eyed Gambit, who grimaced even as he nodded to them. _"Sorry. I couldn't get to the door."_

Once Purdey's body was between him and the guards, Gambit slid the blanket down just a little, revealing a revolver. Obviously Terry had helped with more than clothes. He made sure she saw it, then tucked it away again, tipping his head to one side in what Purdey hoped was a message that meant she should stay out of his line of fire.

_"Passports, please,"_ the older guard said impatiently, though he and his partner had relaxed somewhat. Purdey hoped that was because Gambit was playing up the pitifulness, and not because they had finally got in position to do something drastic. Gambit did look pitiful though, the faint sheen of nervous sweat on his forehead only enhancing the image of a man too debilitated to cause any kind of trouble.

"They just need to see our passports, love," Gambit explained. "Mine's still in your purse, isn't it?"

"No it isn't," Purdey said. She distinctly remembered handing it to him the night before. And she wasn't sure she could keep the envelope with all it's markings from falling out of its magazine if she started rummaging around.

"Just look," Gambit said patiently, ignoring the message she was trying to send him with her eyes. "It should be next to yours."

"If you say so." Purdey sat on the bed near his feet, to give him a clear shot while she dug out through her bag. Both passports _were_ there -- and now that she looked she realized that all of the tickets she'd bought for later departures were gone, so Terry must have collected them. Or Gambit. _It might have been polite to ask me first,_ she thought, a little exasperated by how freely the two men had trotted in out of her belongings, even if they weren't exactly _her _belongings. Not that she hadn't done the same to Gambit's bags, of course, but that was _different._

She handed the passports over, and the two guards bent over them, comparing them to a clipboard roster, but after a few tense moments the older man nodded, and the younger man produced a stamp and used it. He stepped forward to bow a little and offer the approved passports back to Purdey.

"You are okay to go," he said in uncertain English, as the older officer went off to knock the next door down. "If a doctor needed is, us you must find for ..." he faltered, slipped into German. "Die Erlaubnis?" he finished, looking to Gambit.

"Permission," Gambit translated.

"Permission, ja."

_"I should be all right once I've got to sleep. The doctor wouldn't have let me travel otherwise,"_ Gambit told him. "_But thank you, anyway._"

The officer nodded, but he still hesitated, his eyes lingering on Purdey. "The dining car opens at seven," he offered, and Purdey leaned back and stretched out a little to give him a better look at the legs which so obviously fascinated him.

"I'm sure Michael will be sleeping by then," she said, meeting the boy's eyes with a smile calculated to suggest interest, but not promise anything.

"Not if I can't get comfortable," Gambit grumbled pointedly.

Purdey shrugged and gave the guard her most helpless smile as she got up to see him to the door. She lingered in the doorway, the smile still pasted on to meet each glance that came her way from the youngster. It wasn't until the two had finished their check of the closest first class rooms and were halfway down the way to the next car (and the older guard had given the younger one a pointed nudge after a particularly thoughtful exchange of glances), that she closed the door and gratefully turned the lock and rested her head against the door.

Her blood was fizzing with adrenalin, her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, her stomach appeared to have taken up the cha-cha, and her nerves had given up jangling in favor of a first-class clamor and it felt _wonderful._ Like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. Like stepping onto the stage. Like jumping out of an airplane must be: horribly nervewracking, but exhilarating too. Intoxicating. _No wonder you loved this job, dad._

Gambit's voice snapped her back to reality. "You okay?"

Purdey giggled. "I'm fine," she managed, feeling more laughter unaccountably swelling in her chest. She pushed away from the door, and did a little pirouette of triumph. "I'm on the run, in a train that's on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain, locked in with a man who's older than me and is still supposed to be my nephew, someone's probably trying to kill both of us, and I'm _fine!__"_ The laughter was really coming now.

Gambit grinned. "Never claimed this job was for the sane," he allowed, his eyes dancing.

"We could have been found, and I'm enjoying it." Purdey couldn't believe they'd pulled it off, not really. "They could still come back," she acknowledged, though it didn't make her stop chortling.

"They could," Gambit chuckled, "So why are you laughing?"

"I don't know." Tears were streaming down her cheek as she staggered over and collapsed across the bed from him. "Why are you?" she asked, as his laughter melded with hers.

"Because you are."

Purdey felt her sides begin to ache. "I would've thought--I mean, did you see the younger border guard?" Purdey gasped.

"I'm surprised he could remember how to walk," Gambit chuckled. "The way you were leading him on, he won't recover until they're halfway through the fourth car. Hope the neighbors are liberal-minded. It'll go better for him."

"I wasn't leading him on," Purdey tried to protest, but it was hard to sound angry around the laughs.

"Of course not," Gambit replied, mock serious. "That big helpless smile just switched on by itself, did it? 'Oh, I'd love to have dinner with you, if only I didn't have the deadweight invalid to look after. Look at my legs instead'."

"Hey!" Purdey threw her hat at him, meaning for it to sail along like a Frisbee and bonk Gambit on the nose, but her hand was shaking so badly from the adrenaline and the laughs that it wobbled pathetically and ended up in Gambit's ready hand. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"True. Let's practice. I'll be the border guard, you be the stowaway," he suggested with a glint in his eye.

"That's typecasting," Purdey pointed out through a giggle.

"I'll be the stowaway, then. Do you think I have the legs for it?" He lifted one an inch or two off the bed, studying it with an appraising expression.

"They're very good," Purdey assured. "We'll get you a kilt when we get home."

"Aye, lassie," Gambit said in a terrible imitation of a Scots' accent. "Not going to give Sean Connery fans anything to worry about then?"

Purdey just shook her head, nearly catatonic with laughter.

"Ah well, stick with the Irish, then." He studied her hat, still clutched in his hand. "That was a lousy throw, by the way. Ever been to Australia, tossed a boomerang?"

"No."

"Hmm." Gambit tossed the hat with a flick of his wrist. It sailed through the air, bounced off the ceiling, and landed on the top bunk. Purdey and Gambit watched it with earnest interest.

"Clearly you didn't practice the technique," Purdey commented.

"I did," Gambit defended. "Your hat just has a lousy sense of direction."

It was enough to get them laughing again.

"Ow, bloody hell," Gambit chortled, "I can't stop. You trying to kill me?"

"Stop, stop," Purdey giggled. "You'll pop your stitches. Think of something serious." She tried to compose herself. "War, poverty, famine..." she tried.

"Right, right," Gambit agreed, putting great effort into a serious expression. They both lay there for a moment, faces straining with intense concentration.

After a moment, Gambit spoke up. "All I'm getting is Monty Python," he admitted. "How about you?"

"Yes," Purdey squeaked, and let loose another gale of laughter.

"Steed'll have us committed," Gambit choked, brushing away tears of mirth. "I usually need half a bottle of something before I get quite this cheerful. Which reminds me, where's the Schnaps?"

"Poured it down the sink, and you'd already had plenty," Purdey admitted. "Besides, I thought you didn't like it?"

"Seems to have settled the cough for a while," Gambit sighed. "Or maybe it was all those pills. Kendrick really went overboard."

A bump and the screech of metal against metal announced the resumption of their journey. Purdey got up on her knees and leaned over him to tug down the window, so she could poke her head out and see what there was to see. The checkpoint consisted of a building or two, a wider trackbed with a siding or two, and a few men in overalls or uniforms who pointedly ignored her existence. Beyond it the city gave way to more trees, and a road which ran the same direction as the tracks. She peered first back and then forward as the train took a curve before she sighed and pulled her head back inside.

"Well? Anyone riding alongside, trying desperately to board us?" Gambit asked, reaching up to gently brush her windswept hair back from her face. Purdey snorted and went on struggling to put the window back up again.

"Not that I could see, but that doesn't mean we weren't followed." She chewed a lip. "In this job, I can't help but distrust trains. Something always happens in the movies, and it's never good for the heroes."

"Thinking of 'Murder on the Orient Express' are you?"

Purdey shook her head. "'Live and Let Die.' It was on last week. I thought it'd get me in the right mood, so to speak. Now I half-expect to hear maniacal laughter down the corridor."

Gambit smiled slightly. "And me without a jetpack, or a trick briefcase. Sorry to disappoint. Only Steed gets the gadgets, and they're generally limited to anything that can pass as a bowler or brolly." He paused, and looked thoughtful. "I do have an automated bed back home, though. Remind me to show you how it works."

"That's one similarity, anyway," Purdey muttered, settling back down beside him.

"You know," Gambit went on, still toying idly with one of her curls, "with a name like Purdey, you could make quite a good Bond girl. I'm sure Fleming himself would've loved to have a heroine named after a gun."

"Better than a card game," Purdey acknowledged, wondering how it was he didn't have to have his hand on the back of her neck to persuade her to lean towards him. She watched his face getting closer to hers as if she were in a trance.

"And, if I recall correctly, those two had a few ways of making the trip go a little faster." He was very close now. Purdey could feel herself being drawn in. And her adrenaline high hadn't subsided. If anything she was giddier now. She remembered Gambit and Terry's motto, wondered if there wasn't something to it after all. Surely she was entitled to a little fun herself? _Besides, I don't have to buy his boat, just rock it a bit_. She couldn't help but smile at that thought.

The puzzled line made an appearance between Gambit's eyebrows, but he smiled back. "I hope you're thinking what I'm thinking," he said.

"More than you'll ever know," Purdey answered cryptically. "Hold still, I'm going to lose my balance at this rate." She didn't want to land on top of him. Popping his stitches wouldn't be any fun for either of them. She tugged one of the pillows out of the pile and set it beside him.

"What...?"

"I'm just going to make you a little more comfortable," Purdey said softly, never taking her eyes off his face, even as she loosened his tie. His eyes shifted color, from blue to green with hints of gold visible at the rim of the pupils that were still small in the bright light from the window. But he let her take charge, easing down to a more prone position as she stretched herself out alongside.

With her head propped up by one arm, she could see the smile curling up the corners of his lips as he waited for her to make her next move. She reached over him to flip the curtains at this end of the window closed, deliberately giving him a close-up view of the more translucent parts of her dress.

He watched her with hooded, appreciative eyes. "Purdey..." he said, when she settled back, her face only inches from his, and there was a lovely edge in his voice, an added huskiness she'd never heard when he addressed Margot, as he reached up to caress her cheek.

"Mike." She said. And then she kissed him, slowly, _properly_. Not for cover, or in the heat of the moment, when there was no time to enjoy it. She felt his fingers playing in her hair again, more certainly this time. She had to be careful with the tentative hand she sent exploring, but he didn't, and she smiled inside as she felt his gentle touch begin to thread its way down from her face and neck. But then his hand fell away, and she realized that she was doing most of the work in the kiss. She pulled back, wondering if he needed a chance to breathe, but he was breathing all right. Evenly, steadily, the blue eyes closed and the lingering ghost of his smile already fading into the slackness of sleep.

Purdey scowled. "Mike?" This time the name didn't get the gentle treatment it had enjoyed earlier. If there was anything Purdey had learned in the last two days it was what Mike Gambit looked like unconscious. "Mike!" She resisted the urge to shake him. "That wasn't a goodnight kiss," she told him, sourly.

Reluctantly, she disentangled herself and got out of the bunk, and as she did her foot kicked the paper bag of prescriptions that Margot had fetched from the chemist's. Purdey picked it up, and then, on a hunch, started pulling out bottles and reading labels.

"May cause drowsiness." She looked at her soundly sleeping colleague. "They don't joke around." She sighed. "Pity. Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself," she told the closed eyes. But it wasn't his fault he'd been thwarted by the drugs.

_Oh, well._ She leaned down to kiss the slightly parted lips one more time. "Might've been fun." But then a yawn caught her by surprise and another yawn on its heels. _Must be a reaction to the scare we got at the border. Or just too little sleep last night._ She considered trying to get his boots and jacket off, but without Terry or one of the Liebermanns to help her wrestle she didn't feel up to doing the job without waking him. If Gambit was going to fall asleep in the middle of a seduction he probably really needed the sleep. And there was the top bunk, already made up for her. She collected one of the pillows and the magazine from her purse that (she checked) no longer had the envelope inside. Terry and Gambit had probably hidden it someplace new, and she couldn't blame them. At least that meant she had something she could read until suppertime. But it wasn't long before the gentle rocking of the train had her in dreamland along with Gambit.


	4. An Unexpected Detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Berlin

Berlin

Chapter 4: An Unexpected Detour

by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel

Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.

_Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink __(though you can see it at_ http://docs. google. com /View?docID(equalsign)d4pccjp(underline)215hr7t95 if you're curious. Replace the parentheses with the named punctuation and take out the spaces_. And curse ff.n's document editor for me, will you?)__ It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play..._

* * *

  
_"Be careful,"_ the voice was saying. _"We do not want them to waken before time."_

Purdey had been about to open her eyes, to see why the train had slowed, but the translation of the German made it through the fog in just in time.

_"It makes no difference, surely?"_ The second voice was higher, whinier.

_"Those are our orders. Rough handling might kill the man before he can talk and the girl... especially if she is what she seems to be... will be a better lever for his cooperation if he thinks he can save her from being... damaged..."_ The first voice sounded reluctantly determined to follow the orders, whether he wanted to or not. _"We are to search them only, to make sure they have no evidence against Janus hidden in their clothes."_

That was enough warning that Purdey managed not to react when the hands began to unbutton her dress. She heard Gambit make a small noise and wondered if he were awake too. If he was, he was faking unconsciousness. That didn't seem to include being completely unresponsive, though, so she let herself flinch and frown when the person searching her brushed his hand down her front, as if he were impatient with the number of buttons in his way.

_"Here..."_ the first man said. _"Help me with him first."_ The hands left Purdey, and she concentrated on keeping her breathing even. Another groan from Gambit, grunts of effort from the two men, and the sound of ripping cloth. _"I think this must be what we seek."_

_"Good. And just in time. We are coming to the junction. Leave them and lock the door. By the time they wake, Janus should have come."_

_"I would like to stay... to watch."_

_"You know better. Janus trusts no one but Karl to see his face, and Karl only because he does not speak. But do not fret yourself. We've been promised the girl, afterwards."_

_"Ah... that will do."_

She heard them leaving, heard the snick of a lock, and dared open her eyes at last. The rocking told her that they were still on a train, but the place she found herself in bore no resemblance to the first class sleeper cabin she'd been in before. The long narrow room was lit by a hissing propane lantern, hung from a hook on the ceiling, which swayed with the movement of the train. It hadn't been designed for the purpose, clearly, as it lit the upper part of the train car brightly and sent shadows over the rest as it rocked. The windows were hidden behind heavy curtains, the floor covered with oriental rugs. If it weren't for the shape of the room and the movement she might have thought she'd been carried off to a Victorian's parlor. Four long upholstered couches were placed against the walls, and a heavy, ornate table dominated the center of the room. The brasswork was blackened with age, elaborate sconces for missing lamps and other fittings almost invisible in the shifting light. A private car, she realized, relic of an earlier age, when millionaires travelled in comfort.

She pushed up onto her elbow, tearing the disintegrating velvet of the upholstery beneath her. Gambit was stretched out on the couch opposite her, stripped of jacket and shirt, and even the bandages that had been on his chest and arm. His jacket lay on the floor, the lining torn out, and she wondered if that was where he'd been carrying the photograph he'd wanted to get to Steed. His face was slack -- the unconsciousness was real then, and she wondered how she'd escaped it. Of course she'd only swigged a little of the Schnaps that Margot had given them, and he'd had a healthy -- or unhealthy -- amount of the stuff. _Small wonder we were both acting like we'd had one over the eight._ Purdey frowned. _We were drugged._

_The trouble with that theory is that it must be hours since we fell asleep._ And it didn't explain the tinny taste at the back of her nose and throat. _I wonder what chloroform smells like?_

She set the problem aside, and sat up to fix her clothing. It didn't matter how they'd been snatched nearly so much as it mattered how they were going to get away. And thinking about escaping was better than thinking about what their captors had implied would happen if they didn't get away.

"You knew the job was dangerous when you took it," she reminded herself. The fog was starting to clear now, a little, making it easier to think.

The train slowed to a stop, and she lay down quickly, pretending to be asleep. She waited, but no one came, and after a while the train began to move again, going even more slowly, so she got up and went to the window, carefully parting the old, faded, brocade to look outside.

Trees. Pine forest, dark and forbidding, like something out of a tale by the Brothers Grimm. She didn't want to move the curtains too much, lest they fall apart and reveal that she was awake, but by checking what she could from several different vantage points she decided that they were being pushed up the mountainside by a small noisy engine. A spur line, she thought, remembering the vernacular from half-a-dozen old Westerns. It probably led to some remote mine or a remote village.

She had a feeling that waiting to find out wouldn't be a good idea.

The door nearest her led into a small vestibule, like a closet designed to hold baggage. The door beyond it was locked from the outside. There was a small window in the center of it, but all she could see was the front end of the engine. She went back into the main room and tried the door at the far end. That one wasn't locked, but it was blocked by something on the other side and wouldn't open more than half an inch, no matter how hard she tried. The windows were a possibility, but only if she was truly desperate, and they wouldn't do Gambit any good at all.

Gambit. _I'd better do something about bandaging him up again, in case he wakes up and we get a chance to run._

She knelt by the long couch where Gambit was sprawled and dug into his jacket pockets in search of his handkerchief. Nothing. His trouser pockets had been emptied too, and there was no sign of their luggage. If there'd been a tear in her dress she'd have torn out a strip of it, but the tough silk refused to give way to her teeth, so she tore out the rest of Gambit's jacket lining instead and tried to wrap it around his chest to protect the unhealed stitches there.

"Ow," he flinched away from her and she breathed a little easier as she shook his shoulder to waken him. "G'way."

"Come on, Gambit. Wake up." She shook him a little less gently and he groaned. "I'm not going to try the Sleeping Beauty method," she warned. "You're no beauty. Besides, you need another shave."

"Uggg..." his eyes fluttered open. "Where?"

"I haven't the faintest. We were drugged or gassed or something and hijacked. And someone called "Janus" is going to come and interrogate us if we don't find a way out."

"'S not good." He tried to sit up, and on the second attempt managed it, blinking dazedly at his bare arms. He looked at her, still blinking. "I don't remember having this much fun," he said.

"What?"

"Your dress is buttoned crooked." He shivered a little and wrapped his arms gingerly around himself. "Did I do that? I know we were getting a bit hot, but I didn't think we got that far."

She shook her head. "No more than I stripped _you_ off. You decided to take a nap." She started to wrap the jacket lining around his chest, shifting his arms so she had better access.

He frowned, his concentration hampered by the drugs. "Well, if I didn't..." His voice trailed off as he considered the implications of that statement, and he caught her by the shoulders. "Bloody hell... Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. It was easier to focus on his chest, and keep winding the cloth around it. To just look at her hands, and avoid Gambit's eyes reflecting the thoughts and fears she was trying to brush aside. She hoped he'd let it drop.

She should have known better. He wasn't that kind of a man.

"They didn't..." he breathed, his jaw working overtime.

"No," she broke in, hurrying to correct the misconception. "They didn't. I mean, they were searching for the evidence." In her haste to reassure him she met the blue eyes and shivered. She had never seen them so cold, so devoid of emotion. This was the other Gambit, the man who could strike out without emotion. He must have noticed her reaction, because his features softened. "You're not lying or putting on a brave front, are you? Because when I said I wasn't going to have your blood on my hands, I meant I didn't want you hurt in any way, least of all _that_."

"No," she assured him, then unaccountably felt anger bubbling out as the events of the past 24 hours caught up with her.

"And what if they had hurt me?" she heard herself say, although it didn't quite sound like her voice. "What makes you think that the blood would be on _your _hands? I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for when I signed up for this job. My father _died,_ remember? Why shouldn't I take the same risks? I can be just as brave as you are -- just as brave as any _man_."

Gambit's brow furrowed. "I didn't mean--"

"I mean, it's not as though I _want_ anything to happen," Purdey plowed on, "but the last thing I need is for you to get some sort of hero complex. I never liked the damsel in distress parts at school. We're liberated now! Especially me."

Gambit was looking tired now. "Purdey..."

"I can look after myself," she was saying.

"Purdey..."

"I mean, Steed obviously thought I was capable, if he sent me out."

"Purdey!" He said it as loudly as he dared. She started a little, and he finally had a chance to get a word in edgewise.

"I don't doubt that you knew what the risks are," he said quietly. "But I'm not in the habit of letting my partners get killed."

_Partners?_

"Besides," he went on, "I spent three very uncomfortable weeks learning how to cope with being held by unfriendlies, and I know you can't have had that training yet."

Purdey blinked. "Training..." she repeated, thoughtfully. If Gambit was protecting the tyro and not the girl, that was different.

Gambit nodded grimly. "And even the training doesn't seem to help all that much when you've got to turn theory into practice. Afterwards, yeah, but while it's happening..." His eyes were bleak.

Purdey blanched. "Theory into practice?" He sounded like he _knew_, and not from any classroom lecture, either.

He pulled himself back from whatever memory it was that had held him and tried to smile. "Let's just say I'm not too keen on going through it myself, let alone watching you try when you haven't been given any pointers on how to deal with it."

"Oh," Purdey managed, feeling a little sheepish. "Then you think that using me as leverage against you might work on _you_, not just me."

"It might, once I start hurting. Especially since all they've got to do to _make _me hurt is leave off the meds." He closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall, as if the argument had cost him precious strength, and Purdey's indignation drained away.

"Do you think you're likely to give in?" she asked.

"Eventually. Unless Steed manages to rescue us first." He opened one eye and smiled a little. "One good thing at least. I can't have said anything too significant under the anesthesia, or they wouldn't be bothering to question either one of us."

_Except for that bit about your mother._ She couldn't help but wonder just how much the blue eyes had seen in their time, whether Gambit had ever gotten much of a chance at a childhood. At innocence. She briefly considered telling him about their brief dialogue as aunt and nephew, but decided against it. He'd want to know what was said, and why she had let it go on for so long, and Purdey wasn't entirely sure she knew the answer to the second question. Why Gambit, a relative stranger, held the interest of a trainee like her. Besides, the rest of what he said had been singing and unintelligible mutterings, and it wasn't like his childhood was classified information. _Rationalise, Purdey. You're better at this job than you thought._

"At least if they question us together we can encourage each other. Right? When things get rough?"

"In theory. But it's not going to happen," Gambit assured her. "They start in on you over my dead body."

"That's_ their _plan," Purdey pointed out, trying to look more confident than she felt. "I think we need one of our own."

"I'll come up with something," He collected himself and gave her one last searching look. "Sure you're okay?"

She nodded to assure him. "I'm fine. So what's the plan?"

"The plan?"

"Yes, you said you'd come up with one." She gave him a bright, expectant look. "You've had all of ten seconds. They promised me in class that we'd be trained to adapt to new situations at a moment's notice."

Gambit laughed, and the worry stopped haunting his eyes. "All right, but I need a little more data first. Are the exits locked?"

"This end's locked, that one's blocked." She described what she'd found on her small tour. "But even if we could get a door open, then what? Jump? The engine of the train is behind us, not ahead. We'd be seen."

"So much for plan A."

She went back to wrapping the makeshift bandage around him while he tried to think. She'd managed to get his shirt onto him again and partially buttoned when the train slowed again and the brakes began to grind. Without consultation each of them took a side of the doorway, to wait for someone to come in.

But they only heard voices talking, and the clank of metal as their prison settled to stillness after one last shudder. The train engine pulled away and the clack of its wheels on the track faded into the distance. For a moment Purdey thought she heard the rumble of a car engine, but it faded before she could be sure. And then everything got quiet, and stayed that way.

Gambit slid down onto the nearest couch and Purdey began peering out the windows. There were train cars on either side, ancient and dark, and so close that they rendered the windows nearly useless as an escape route, not that they'd be able to open one quietly enough to avoid notice. The small window in the vestibule was more helpful. She could see the reflection of a fire in the windows of another train car on the track to the left and the outline of a man with a rifle crouched beside it.

She went back over to Gambit to report.

"Just one man?" he asked.

"That's all I see. And from what they said, Janus only trusts one of his men to see his face."

"First bit of luck we've had. Here, help me get my boot off."

"What are you going to do, bash him with it?"

"No... That's where I've got my insurance policy stashed."

"Insurance policy?" she asked, but he had already taken the boot she handed him and reached in to pull out the sole lining. He reached in again and came up with a small bullet. "What do you have in the other boot?" she asked. "A revolver?"

He smiled wryly. "Don't I wish. No, the other boot's got a little pill I'd just as soon never take. I like living."

Purdey had to agree with that one. "Silly place to keep it," she opined as casually as she could, retrieving the bullet before it could slip out of Gambit's shaking fingers. "What happens if you walk through a puddle and your boot leaks?"

"It's in a waterproof case," he said. "But it can stay there. We're getting out alive."

"With one bullet and no gun?" she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Gambit nodded. "Put it in the keyhole, pointed out. Then see if you can pry up a piece of wainscoting with at least one of the nails still in." He leaned back again and closed his eyes as he explained. "The nail's going to act as a firing pin. We line it up with the bullet, make a noise to attract the guard, and then use something as a hammer to strike the nail into the bullet once he's close enough to get hit. I'd best do that part, it's dangerous. The bullet's as likely to explode back as forward."

Purdey, having slipped the bullet into the keyhole and started to look for a loose board along the walls, shook her head. "You're shaking too much. You'd miss."

"Maybe." He was silent for a moment. "If you do it from the side then I can kick the door open and get him. We only get one chance at this, and the bullet could easily miss, depending where he's standing. If it hits his hand or his hip it might disable him, but it'll only kill him if it hits a major artery. But the noise will distract him no matter what."

"If you say so."

"We get out, get him, and then steal whatever transportation he's got and run for it. Okay?"

"What about the double agent? If he's coming here, then couldn't we capture him or something like that?"

Gambit bit his lip and then slowly shook his head. "No. No, if you had a little more training, maybe, or I was in better shape we might try it. But we're better off getting away and calling in. I've already lost the photograph with the fingerprints on it. It's time to cut our losses and run."

She had to agree, really, even though it felt like a failure. In the movies, the bad guys always lost in the last reel. Then again, in the movies the hero usually recovered from a bullet wound with scarcely a wince. Gambit, on the other hand, was putting on a good act, but his long face wasn't really meant for stoicism. She wondered if he could tell as much from her own expression as she could tell from his. Hopefully not. She shifted around mentally, looking for a distraction.

"The photograph's not the only thing you lost."

"Hey?" Gambit opened his eyes and looked at her quizzically.

"Well, the suitcase is gone, and that means you'll have to start a new little black book, won't it?"

"Little black..." his exhaustion fled as he put his hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. "Oh, help... you went poking, didn't you?"

She felt the blush creeping up her neck. "Maybe a bit."

"Purdey... you don't honestly believe I'd bring personal information like that along on a job like this, do you?" His amusement was worth her embarrassment, but only barely.

"I didn't know what kind of job it was," she pointed out waspishly, tugging at the board she'd loosened. "And what else would you want it for?"

He chuckled. "It doesn't matter now, so I'll tell you. I needed to get into a computer, and in order to get in I had to put in a command string of random letters and numbers perfectly. The book had all them all laid out in a sequence that doesn't mean anything to anyone but me, and once I got in, I locked the door behind me. Even if I did tell someone how to work out the code, the computer won't accept it any more."

"Oh." Purdey wasn't sure how to take that. "Did you learn that trick in training?"

"No, I picked it up off another agent -- Steed, as a matter of fact. He did something similar once."

"Steed?" Purdey felt her ears prick up. "You've worked with Steed?"

"Occasionally," Gambit said, still smiling, although he was beginning to sit a little lopsidedly. "Don't tell me you've got a case of hero-worship already."

"Well," she temporised. "He's _Steed_. I mean, three quarters of the stories we're hearing in training are about him. And nearly all the rumors in the canteen too."

Gambit made a mildly rude noise. "He'd be pleased to hear it."

"Would he?" Curiosity got the better of her. "I mean, is that what he's like? Polishes his own legend?"

"He doesn't have to -- it gets polished enough by the rest of us." Gambit rubbed at his eyes again, fighting off sleep. "Steed's all right. Thinks faster on his feet than anyone I've ever met, and can charm the birds out of the trees. Mind you, he's a bit old-fashioned."

"Nothing wrong with that," Purdey argued. "I mean, so's St. Paul's. But it's lasted a very long time, and so has Steed." She bit her lip, decided to say it anyway. "Unlike my father." Gambit reached over a hand to help her get to her feet. She took it, being careful not to let her weight pull on him, but grateful to him for the thought anyway. "Sorry. I shouldn't talk about dying when we're in danger, should I?"

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. "Doesn't matter. Reminds us why we want to get out of danger, doesn't it? But if you want a better incentive we could always discuss what we're going to do when we get back to London. Dinner, dancing, afters at my place." He hadn't let go of her hand, and now he squeezed it gently and gave her a hopeful leer.

It was Purdey's turn to make a rude noise. "You're incorrigible, you know that."

"Never wanted to be corriged," he replied, cockily. "Wouldn't be half as much fun."

Purdey reclaimed her hand. "Let's get out of here."

It didn't take long to get the board into place. At Gambit's suggestion she used the heel of her shoe to tap two of the nails quietly into the wood of the door and the doorjamb, to hold the third nail in position over the bullet. He rummaged around for a different "hammer" for the last blow, since he didn't want her to lose her shoe to it, and eventually came up with a loose leg from one end of the left-hand bench seat. But at last they were ready -- Purdey kneeling by door with her shoes on and her "hammer" in her left hand, forced by the position of the doorhandle to be on that side -- Gambit standing well back, braced against the table until the moment he had to act, his face in the shadow of the bottom of the lamp above his head, but not so shadowed that the grim expression was hidden from her. This was going to have to work. She didn't think he'd have the strength for a second attempt.

* * *

Gambit was running through the plan again in his head, trying to remember the possibilities he was sure he'd forgotten. So much depended on Purdey, and she looked so damn young kneeling there, her eyes bright with apprehension, and the light from the lamp making her look nearly as pale as her dress. This was no way to kill your first man. Not that his own initiation into that unhappy club had been a lot better. He shoved the memory away. Deep breaths, or as deep as he could make them. Concentrate on the door. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by the explosion of the bullet, couldn't let anything stop him once it had gone off. If the guard got him when he went out the door, at least he'd make sure that he got the guard too. Purdey could run home then, please God, whether he was with her or not. _Deep breaths_. He let himself settle into a fighting stance. He was ready.

* * *

Gambit nodded to Purdey and she took a deep breath. This was it.

"Help!" she screamed, as loud as she could. "Someone help me! He's dying!"

She took another breath, and heard the scrabble of movement outside.

"Help!" she called again. "Oh, please help!" The car shifted subtly as someone clambered up the steps onto the platform. The outer door was opened, heavy boots sounded in the vestibule. The guard was just beyond the door now. Purdey saw the doorhandle shift, ever so slightly.

"_Now!__"_ Gambit hissed, but she was already swinging her hand around.

The bullet exploded with a flare and a bang that knocked her backwards, purblind and nearly deaf to the rattle of an automatic rifle being fired nearby. Her hand stung as if she'd put it into a beehive, and as she instinctively went to cover her eyes she could feel splinters of wood trying to transfer themselves from her fingertips to her forehead just in time to think better of rubbing at her eyelids with her fist. She used the other hand instead, trying to press away the bright green glare inside her head.

Dimly she was aware of Gambit going past her, the sudden rush of cool air as the door fell under his assault. The cordite of the bullet mixed with the sudden iron smell of blood and the stench of intestines laid bare to the world. Purdey's stomach, already in knots from preparing the ambush, rebelled, and she turned away retching. She'd only just got past the worst of it when she felt the hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She blinked furiously, hoping that Gambit would realize that her eyes were watering because of the glare and not because she was crying as he guided her up to a sitting position on the nearest stretch of bench.

"I'm okay," she said. "I just can't see anything but green."

"Can you hear me?" The words were dim through the ringing, but she could make them out.

She nodded. "Mostly."

"Keep your eyes closed for a little. And try popping your ears."

She obeyed. It seemed to help. She waited, tugging free splinters as best she could blindly while he fumbled around somewhere beyond the ringing echoes. She couldn't understand the words he was using under his breath, but she could catch the general tenor of his cursing, and the clunk of a magazine bolt being drawn.

"What kind of a useless bastard doesn't carry any spare ammunition?" That wail of disgust was clear enough.

"Doesn't he have more than one gun?" Purdey asked, hoping she didn't sound shrill. It was hard to tell -- even her own voice was distant.

"Not that I can see." He sat down beside her, heavily. "Speaking of which, can you see anything yet?"

She opened her eyes, blinked them a few times. "Lots of green," she said. "The lantern." She turned to him. "Outlines of things. Why are you rubbing your legs?"

"I'm not -- I'm just... well, nevermind. Think you can walk? No one's turned up yet, so we probably didn't wake the neighbors, but I don't want to stick around."

Purdey nodded in agreement. Anything was better than hanging about here. In the dark. With the blood. And the cordite. The breeze brought it to her again, the sickly mix. Why was it that the one sense she wished had dulled had escaped the blast unscathed? At least her sight was getting better. And the ringing was dying down.

"You'll have to lead me," she warned him. "Unless you'd rather wait till I can see my own way."

"Nothing you want to see," he said gruffly.

"Hadn't I better ought to face up to it?" she asked. "It's not likely to be the last time I kill someone."

"Face up to it the next time," Gambit advised her as he pushed himself back upright with a groan. "When I kicked the door open, his gun must've turned back on him and things got messy."

Purdey took the hand he offered, still careful not to put her weight on him as she stood. "How messy?"

"Ever dissect a frog?" Gambit wasn't interested in looking either, she suspected, from the way he kept his eyes on her face as he started to lead her out of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his, in turn, and didn't tell him that she'd enjoyed that part of biology class. There'd been something fascinating about looking at the insides of a frog. Come to think of it, she'd had to pith the frog, too, so it wasn't like she'd never done anything like this before, only smaller. All she had to do was imagine the sliminess beneath her feet looked like frog guts, and she'd probably get out without heaving again, in spite of the smell.

She'd just reached this happy conclusion, and better yet, the door leading to the outside, when her foot came down on something that rolled and slid and she lost her balance. The other foot didn't have any better purchase and she lurched towards Gambit, who used the grip he had on her uninjured hand to pull her out onto the small porch-like end of the car with a strength she hadn't known he possessed. She put her arms around his neck instinctively to steady herself, ended up with her face buried in his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a moment, while she waited for her heart to settle down. Gambit smelled of antiseptics and penicillin, a hint of aftershave, perhaps even a little of her perfume, but strongest of all his own sweat. Musky. Masculine. Somehow, it wasn't bad: a vast improvement over the reek of cordite and blood and the other things she'd nearly landed in.

The ringing in her ears was fading -- she could hear his breathing steadying near her ear, soft and comfortable. Purdey realised how unexpectedly weary she was, how nice it would be to just settle into Gambit's shoulder and sleep for a week. _Or __**not**__ sleep._ Suddenly the idea of curling up next to Gambit didn't just seem like just a reasonable alternative to the couch for someone who was too tired to argue. She had a feeling the idea would look just as appealing in the light of day and a well-rested mind. And once she'd admitted to that, she also had to admit that playing Gambit's "Mabel-love" had gone beyond just a cover, that she'd let it turn into a sort of guilt-free excuse to indulge. She nearly had on the train. If Gambit hadn't been drugged, she was fairly certain she wouldn't have had the willpower to refuse whatever proposition he might have made. _Of course, he wasn't the only one who'd been drugged... I think._ Still, drugged or not, if ever once she started, she wasn't entirely certain she'd be able to stop. Or even want to.

What would happen when there was no cover? When they got back to England? Gambit would still be a skirt chaser, and she'd be...what? _An idiot._ There were lots of ways to describe a girl who let herself be controlled by a guy who only wanted sex, and none of them very complimentary. She'd danced the fool to Larry's piping, and once in a lifetime was more than enough of that tune. An _affaire de coeur_ with a senior agent would make hash out of her reputation in the Department too, and she had no intention of letting it be said that she'd earned her place with anything but hard work. Besides, from the way Terry went on, Gambit made a habit out of playing target -- he was too dangerous to get involved with in more ways than one.

But, oh, it felt good to rest for a moment in strong arms.

* * *

Gambit let the stanchion behind his back do the work of keeping them both upright for as long as he could, wishing that he had the energy to do more than just hold Purdey in his arms. He'd held a lot of girls like this, sooner or later, but few of them had fit against his body the way she did, and none of them had ever felt so perfect. Maybe it was the ballet that did it -- that underlaid the lovely softness with a core of strength and resilience that he already knew he could depend upon. Someday, when he could trust his knees to keep from buckling under him, he meant to find out what it would be like to dance with her. Someday when they could dance the night through without worrying about someone taking potshots at them, at any rate. He smiled to himself. Even odds she'd be the first girl who would tire him out instead of the other way 'round. And even if it were a dead tie, he'd lay money Purdey would bounce back first.

_She'll bounce back first tonight, that's for certain,_ he thought, shifting a little to ease the pressure on his aching chest.

Instantly, Purdey stood away, searching his face with eyes that probably weren't focussing yet.

"For a ballerina, you've got lousy balance," he murmured, reaching up to tuck her hair back from her face.

She grinned, and found his arm, lending the support that he was starting to need. "This from the man who collects bullets like postage stamps," she wisecracked, proving him right. "Now what?"

"Now we find out if that guard kept any spare ammo in his gear." Gambit still had the guard's gun slung over his shoulder, for all the good it had done him so far.

It took cooperation to get down from the train car and across the tracks to the guard's fire. He could see, and she could walk without wobbling. They made it without any disasters, and Gambit slumped gratefully down onto the folding stool while Purdey crouched beside him and held her hands out to the warmth of the fire.

"Can you see yet?" he asked. "How are your eyes?"

"A little better." She turned her head one way and the other, peering into the darkness beyond the fire. "I can see more than I could, any road."

"I meant to tell you to keep them closed," he confessed, "but I forgot. That's the first time I've ever actually tried that trick. I wasn't sure it would even work."

She goggled at him. "What would you have done if it hadn't?"

He grinned wearily. "Kicked the door down anyway. As long as he was on the other side of it there was a chance of knocking him out."

"Might have been less messy," she observed, shivering a little in the cool night air.

"Not sure I could have done it before you blew out the lock." Gambit reached for the coffee pot and the cup that the dead man had left behind. "Anyway, if he hadn't had his gun set on auto I think the worst that would have happened is he'd have got his neck broken. As it was he pulled the trigger and fired the whole clip. We're just lucky it wasn't pointed our direction." He poured out some coffee, biting back a curse when some of it slopped over his hand. "Here," he offered the cup to Purdey. "Drink a little something. It'll help."

"No, thanks," she said. "Coffee never tastes the way it smells."

"Go on, you're shivering," he insisted, and she took the cup and sniffed at it before sipping reluctantly.

Wishing that there was more than one cup, Gambit tried to keep his own shivers from showing. "Wish I knew where we are," he said thoughtfully.

"Germany, presumably," Purdey offered pertly.

"Yeah, but which one?" The guard had been carrying small change from both sides of the border in his pockets -- East German coins mixed up with what the Bavarians called Fuffzgerls and Zehnerls -- but his papers had been pretty thoroughly destroyed, or soaked beyond recognition. Gambit took a surreptitious look at his own hands. It would take water to get the rest of the blood off, now that it had dried into the seams of his skin. At least Purdey couldn't see well enough to tell what it was.

She offered him the coffee cup. "That's enough for me, thanks."

"Drink some more -- it'll help clear the drug out of your system," he advised, but she shook her head.

"I think the fright's done that already. You drink it."

He didn't argue, just drained the mug and filled it again from the pot. He drank a little more and pulled a face. "This is really awful coffee."

Her sense of humor tickled unexpectedly, "You should try _my_ coffee sometime."

"I thought you didn't like coffee."

"If you tasted my coffee you wouldn't like it either." Purdey stood and dusted herself off. "I wish I had a watch," she said. "If we knew what time it was, at least we'd know whether or not we _had _to still be in the Eastern Sector."

That was a thought. Gambit shielded his eyes from the fire and looked until he found the Big Dipper. "A little after midnight," he calculated. "We may be lucky after all. Anyway, I'd rather be in the hands of a local cop than Janus, whoever he is, even in the Eastern sector."

"Me too," Purdey said. "Which means I'd best find us some transportation out of here. Which way do you think the road is?"

"I can't tell." Gambit drank a little more coffee. Fright or not, he still felt a little muzzy. "There may not even be one. That fellow could have come up here on the locomotive."

"No, I'm sure I heard a car." Purdey performed a ritual which looked suspiciously like eenie meenie miney mo. "That way, I think. You stay here and see if our dead friend left anything useful behind besides the coffee."

"Are you sure you can you see well enough?" Gambit asked.

"I think so. Just stay near the fire -- I know I can find it again."

* * *

Gambit didn't argue, which told Purdey volumes about the condition he was in. She left him sitting on the folding stool and began exploring. They were in a narrow valley, deep in a spruce forest. The moonlight showed her large concrete bunkers at the high end of the valley, but they looked dark and unoccupied. A single train track led off down the opposite direction, but in the space between it was split into several sidings, each of them crammed with old railway carriages and ancient locomotives. The locomotives seemed like the best bet and on the farthest siding she found one locomotive that radiated heat. She climbed up into the cab to look, but the dials and levers looked complicated, the firebox was down to a bed of embers, and there was only a small pile of coal in the tender. Somehow she felt that old movies weren't going to be sufficient tuition for running a train. _Unless Gambit knows how to drive it._ There was treasure of another sort though, in the form of a kerosene lantern that gurgled promisingly when she shook it and a box of wooden matches. She took both along as she climbed down the other side of the cab.

On the far side of the line of locomotives she found a bicycle and a narrow road with cracked paving leading over the hill. There were automobile tracks in the soft dirt at the edge of the paving, but no car. She looked along the road. Janus would probably come that way, and there was only one bicycle. Near where the car must have been parked she found a sign that she couldn't read in the moonlight, so she lit the lantern.

_"No Trespassing. Future Home of the Railway Museum of the Frankenwald,"_ she read, hoping her mental translation was accurate. "Maybe Gambit will know where that is." She found a gap between locomotives and started back, and then nearly had heart failure when she realized that Gambit wasn't sitting where she'd left him.

She made a beeline for the fireside. "Gambit?" she called softly. "Mike?"

"Over here," his answer came just as softly. She looked and found him leaning against the corner of a decrepit passenger car, nearly hidden by the shadows. As she started to approach he backed into the space between that car and the next and called, "No -- leave the lantern by the fire. It makes you stand out like a sitting target."

"Should you be wandering about?" she asked.

"Better than waiting for Janus to show up. Besides, I needed a moment to meself, and I didn't want to take it that close to hot coals."

Purdey nodded. She'd found a private corner herself during her explorations, and felt the better for it. "Did you find anything we can use?"

"Only this." He held up a folded clasp knife. "I was hoping there'd be a box of ammo, but if he had any, he wasn't keeping it close to hand. Probably in one of those bunkers, if we had time to search them."

"It'd take days," Purdey warned him. "I think they go right into the side of the mountain." She maneuvered him until he could sit on the coupling of the two cars and bit her lip, trying to consider their options. "Gambit, have you ever heard of a place called Frankenwald?"

"_The_ Frankenwald. It's a forest in Bavaria. Why?"

"There's a bevy of locomotives over that way. Old ones. Museum pieces, in fact." She told him about the sign.

"Explains why this place looks like Steed's garage," Gambit quipped with a grin. Purdey frowned in confusion. "He likes vintage. Bentleys, Rolls, that sort of thing."

"I see," Purdey murmured. "Do you get to take them out?"

Gambit snorted. "He won't let me near them. Says I drive too much like I'm trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Besides, the old Bentley has the spirit of Mrs. Peel in it. I'm not worthy. Not yet, anyway."

Purdey snickered. "Or female. I can't see you in a catsuit."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Not everyone can carry off those creaky wardrobes." He shook his head. "Must be hell to keep up. All that oiling. I have trouble just with me boots." He indicated the pair he was wearing, which were more than a little scuffed by this point. "They're never going to be the same. How about you? I think the leather comes with the job."

Purdey blushed. "I'm not official," she reminded him. "I've only just started training. But if Steed does take me on, I'll be retaining my own wardrobe."

"Just as well," Gambit commented absently. "Stockings and suspenders are more my line in any case."

Purdey smirked at him. "You must look lovely in them."

Gambit smirked right back. "I save them for special occasions. Now, what about those engines?"

Purdey returned to the problem at hand. "There's several. One's been used recently, but I couldn't make head or tail of the controls. Can you?"

"Probably, if I had enough time, and there wasn't a double agent on the way. But I'd just as likely only cause a ruckus. I don't think we can risk it. Anything else?"

"A bicycle," Purdey said glumly. "For one."

"Who'd take the handlebars?" Gambit wondered.

"You're in no shape to be the one doing the pedalling," Purdey pointed out. "And the position would put strain on your chest in any case. And if you took the handlebars, we'd be off-balance. Too much weight at the front. I can't offset it."

Gambit looked her up and down, taking in her figure appreciatively. "No, you can't," he agreed. "There is something over that way, though." He indicated the track beyond with the jerk of a thumb, and Purdey clambered up beside him to get a view.

"A handcar!" she exclaimed as the pattern of lines and shadows resolved into something recognizable in the dark. "That might work."

"It might," Gambit allowed. "If we can get it onto the track we want it on. And as long as Janus isn't coming up the track the other way."

She shook her head. "I think he'd probably come up the road where I found the bicycle, don't you? Don't trains have to be scheduled?"

"Yeah," Gambit said gloomily. "But he'd managed to schedule the one that brought us here."

"I'd still rather risk the handcar than the bicycle," Purdey said.

He nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

The handcar was easy to understand, with the help of the lantern, but for all of that it wasn't Purdey's idea of perfect transportation. Gambit couldn't really help, for one thing. She couldn't think of any motion worse for a chest injury than bending up and down and trying to put pressure on the rocker handle. He insisted on trying, but had to give up and sit after they'd figured out the first switch and transferred the handcar onto the downhill track. She put him in charge of the brake handle and told him to watch out for switches and oncoming trains.

"What about ladies tied to the tracks?" he asked, grinning at her.

"This isn't the _Perils of Pauline_," she pointed out.

"Feels like it," he said. "You in that dress, and the handcar and all. We just need some piano music for accompaniment."

Purdey snorted, but she couldn't help but grin back. "You've got it wrong you know. If I'm the one doing the rescuing then you must be the damsel in distress."

He laughed so hard he started coughing, but once he'd managed to stop he was still grinning. "Does that make you the Mountie?"

"I haven't got the chin for it," she said.

"Well, you're definitely not the horse," Gambit said. "Even if you are providing the horsepower. And you don't have the mustache for Snidely Whiplash."

Purdey remembered an old joke from school and said, in her best villainous accents, "But you must pay the rent..."

"But I can't pay the rent!" Gambit came back in a squeaky falsetto.

"But you must pay the rent!" She took a hand off the pump to twirl the end of an imaginary mustachio.

"But I can't pay the rent!" He delivered the line with all the outrageous emoting of a Victorian melodrama.

"I'll pay the rent!" Purdey switched to "heroic" mode, biting back laughter as Gambit splayed a hand across his chest and fluttered his eyelids at her.

"My hero!" he chirped.

"Curses! Foiled Again!" Purdey came back as the villain for the punchline, and was rewarded by Gambit's struggle to keep his laughter from turning into another round of coughs. Then she bent again to the rockerhandle, grinning to herself as she sought the most efficient rhythm.

* * *

The wheels of the handcar clacked as they passed over the joints between sections of track, and Gambit could hear the acceleration as well as feel it as the slope became steeper, so it wasn't an illusion. He glanced back at Purdey, and thought that she had eased up a little, letting gravity and momentum do most of the work while she could. He couldn't blame her. There was something dreamlike about riding along through the clear, cold night. The breeze was sweet with pine, and the cool smell of water from the brook which paced along beside them, dodging now and then beneath the tracks through culverts that echoed the music of the rails hollowly and blended it with the chuckling of the water. The light from the lantern made the boles and branches of the trees flicker from silhouette to reality as they passed. Gambit still wasn't sure about the lantern. He'd put it behind him, to keep it from destroying his night-vision, and he hadn't argued with Purdey when she'd said that she didn't want to be invisible to any passing train, but being in the spotlight still made the place between his shoulderblades itch.

And after all, the moonlight was enough to make out the shape of the hills rising on either side. He'd lost sight of the North Star, once they'd gotten deeper into the trees, but he knew they were heading east by southeast, and all he could do was hope that they'd gone west from the main track. He couldn't remember much about the Frankenwald -- he only knew where it was because he'd been seated with a chatty young lady for breakfast on the train a year ago, and she'd spent as much of the time nervously pointing out landmarks as they passed across the border as she had clearing her plate. There were towns, though, once they reached the main line. Ludwigsstadt, he remembered, and Steinbach am Wald.

He couldn't remember if either of them had a hospital. There was skiing at Steinbach, though so there had to be a clinic at the very least. Even this time of year. _Someplace I can get another pain pill._

Gambit knew he was coming to the end of his strength. He'd hoped a good long sleep on the train would make things better, and it had, but even the briefest of fights had left him feeling hollow inside. The coughing hadn't started up yet again, knock wood, but Kendrick's medicines were bound to wear off sooner or later. Gambit wasn't good for much more than a cheering section for Purdey now, and heaven help them if she were in the same case. There wasn't anything left of the mission except getting her home alive, and he was a lot less sure than he wanted to be that he was going to be able to manage it. In the end she'd probably have to depend on her own wits and strength, and thank God she seemed to be blessed with both, but he'd have felt more sanguine about her chances if she'd had even a week's more training.

He didn't dare look back to see how she was doing - he needed his night vision as much as they needed the lantern to warn any train that might approach of their existence. But he could still talk, still encourage her, or at least distract her from fear. "Would a rousing chorus of 'I've Been Working on the Railroad' be appropriate, do you think?" he called back to her. "I know all the ruder verses."

* * *

Steed pushed the rental car as hard as he dared, wishing that he'd had the time to arrange for something with more power before flying to Germany. Beside him, Dr. James Kendrick stared out the passenger window, rubbing at his chin with the steady, absent air of thought. He'd fussed furiously at being towed to Heathrow, fussed insistently about the seats on the plane, fussed resignedly at the delays in hiring a car in Munich, and fussed automatically about missing dinner on the drive up to Lichtenfels, but the fussing had stopped when Purdey and Gambit proved to be missing from the train. Steed missed it. If nothing else it had helped him stay awake.

_I just hope that Purdey can manage_. He'd been riding his gut when he pulled her out of karate class, depending on little more than the précis of her psychological interview and the half-moonstruck enthusiasm of her instructors over her potential to back his certainty that Gambit's location needed to stay darker than the usual secret. If Mabel Horrocks -- the real Mabel Horrocks -- hadn't gone to Gambit's apartment in search of his address book at the same time that Steed had stopped by to empty out the mailbox and water the plants, even _he_ would have thought the man was still incommunicado behind the Wall.

At least now he knew why Gambit had given his real next of kin when the doctor had asked. _A double agent._ Steed reviewed the names of the men he was certain were in Germany and the much longer list of names of the men whose location he couldn't pin down. One of them had gone sour, or had been careless in talking to a West German agent who was playing both sides. Someone had warned the East Germans that Gambit was in their sector -- someone had been waiting with a sniper's rifle to make sure that he didn't make it back to the West alive despite the bribed guards.

_Someone is still trying to silence him_. Steed hoped they hadn't succeeded.

They passed a sign. 20 kilometers still to Steinbach am Wald.

"Why Steinbach am Wald, Steed?" Kendrick asked. "The attendant was pulled out of the car to deal with that broken window while they were still on the other side of the border. Gambit and the girl must have been taken when they stopped in Probstzella."

"But then why would the train stop again in Steinbach am Wald?" Steed said.

"The Railway Controller in Lichtenfels told you. They got warned about debris on the track ahead by the driver of the other train." Kendrick tucked his head down, like an elderly, disgruntled turtle. "It probably didn't have anything to do with our two. And you're not going to get us across the border, not without a carnet."

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," Steed said. "But we'll ask questions in Steinbach first. A steam locomotive must have attracted some attention from the town as well as the passengers we spoke to."

"That was nearly two hours ago," Kendrick said. "Everyone in Steinbach will be in bed by now, even if they did see something."

"There's always someone awake," Steed said. "A policeman, a gas station attendant, a hotel clerk. Someone. And they'll be bored and ready to talk to anyone who stops by. Think positive."

"As long as there's coffee," Kendrick conceded with a sigh. "I'm getting too old for this."

_So am I,_ Steed thought, but very very quietly. Although, truth to tell, it wasn't dashing across Germany in the middle of the night that was a strain -- it was wondering about the condition of the youngsters he'd sent into danger. He'd have much rather gone himself. _Best reason to turn down that desk job McKay's been offering -- all I'd be doing all day is waiting to hear which missions had gone sour_. That wasn't quite fair, and Steed knew it -- he liked having the authority to send an agent off to investigate someone without leaping through hoops of seniority first. He wouldn't have been able to send Coyne into Berlin without risking exposing Gambit's vulnerability to at least three more "supervisors" ten years ago. He liked being able to hijack Kendrick, for that matter, and once he'd had some coffee himself he'd be able to face the hunt for his lost lambs with his usual equanimity.

Steinbach am Wald was sleeping and dark. There weren't any other cars moving through the narrow streets, no people wandering about. It took ten minutes for Steed to find the train station, set down on a dead end street, and it was a disappointment when he did. He slowed as he passed the shuttered windows, looking for signs of life without success. Kendrick, who was looking for other things, tapped his elbow. "Gasthof Pietz," he read off a bit of barding. "You mentioned hotel clerks."

"Yes," Steed said. "And if I recall correctly they've got a very good restaurant as well." He turned the car around. "It's back up at the bridge."

* * *

Purdey found it easier to keep a steady rhythm once Gambit started singing at her, in spite of his apparently endless repertoire of risqué lyrics. But she was just as glad to take a breather when he spotted the switch ahead and warned her before tugging on the handbrake to slow their odd vehicle to a halt. They stopped just before a junction of the track they were on with a second track that looked nearly as lightly used. Purdey fetched the lantern along with her as she scouted ahead to examine the switch (already in their favor) and decide which way to go on the new line. There was less grass growing off to the left, but more coal fallen beside the track on the right, but after thinking about it long and hard she decided that they'd have to go forward, switch the switch, and then head down to the left, following the water. This was probably where the order of engine/car had been reversed, just in time to distract their captors. She walked back to the handcar to tell Gambit her decision and found that he'd clambered down to the stream and was sitting beside it, taking drinks from his cupped hands.

She joined him. The water was wonderful, sweet and clear and so cold it made her teeth ache. "Wish we'd thought to bring that coffee cup," she said.

"Me too." Gambit ran his dripping hands over his face, like he was trying to keep himself awake, or cool off.

"Is the fever back?" she asked. His forehead felt warm, but so did her own after dipping her hands in that stream.

"I'm okay," he answered automatically, and then smiled ruefully. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well, I was pretty thirsty," he admitted. "And I'm not looking forward to getting up. But I think I can manage. I just wish I felt up to helping you work the handcar."

Purdey grinned. "Spence told me I needed to do exercises to improve my upper body strength. Just think how impressed by my muscles he'll be by the time we get back." She pretended to inspect a bicep. "I think I can tell the difference already."

Gambit laughed. "You're already in pretty good shape, as far as I'm concerned," he said.

"Good. Then you'll let me help you up the hill."

"Let me drink a little more water first."

He _did_ let her help him on the short scramble back up to the handcar, not very much, but enough for her to tell that he was shivering under the hand she'd rested on his arm. It wasn't worth mentioning. There wasn't a thing she could do about it except get him to someplace safe. It hadn't occurred to her to look for a blanket back at the train museum, although the guard must have had one somewhere. _Next time I'll remember,_ she promised herself.

Gambit insisted that they reset the switch back once they'd maneuvered onto the new track. "It's like closing gates," he said, when Purdey hesitated. "You leave things the way that the people who need to use them expect them to be. Fewer accidents that way."

She couldn't argue with that, though it was harder having to stop and start and stop and start again. But at last they were heading downhill again, and she could set herself into the rhythm of the handcar pump and not think too hard.

They passed two more switches that had been left in their favor before they reached one which had been reset to the other track. That track was far shinier in the moonlight and Purdey suspected it was in more regular use. Gambit peered at the sky above them. "Nearly one thirty, I think. It's probably safe enough."

Purdey followed his gaze. "How can you tell?"

He waggled a finger at her and smiled crookedly. "A fellow's got to have some secrets," he asserted blearily. "It's hard to look impressive if you give them all away."

_It's hard to look impressive when you're leaning like a drunk on a three-day binge_, she wanted to tell him, but she didn't think it would help. "Which way do we go, do you think?"

"South. Toward the lights," he answered, waving off to the left, Now that he'd pointed it out she could make out a dull glow showing just above the trees in the cleft of the valley. He slid off the end of the handcar and stumbled over to the switch. "You ready?"

"Ready." She confirmed. She didn't miss the noise he tried not to make as he pulled the lever, though, and once she'd gotten onto the new track and he rejoined her she said, "My turn next time," to keep him from trying it again.

"You want all the fun," Gambit protested unenergetically.

"I want breakfast," Purdey grunted as she started pumping again. It was hard work accelerating, and the stop had given the breeze a chance to chill the sweat that was trickling down her back. She waited for Gambit to come back with a sarky remark, but he'd fallen silent. If it hadn't been for the way he was holding his arms so tightly around his chest she might have thought he'd fallen asleep.

For tuppence, Purdey would have walked the rest of the way. She was tired of working the handle, and her arms and back were telling her in no uncertain terms that she'd already overdone it. She didn't like the feeling of being on an active train track, and she liked it even less twenty minutes later when they reached the junction with the main line. There was no mistaking it, two sets of tracks running in gleaming parallel on a well-cleared bed. She could even see some of the lights further down the valley now. If she hadn't been just as certain that abandoning the handcar meant abandoning Gambit, she'd have suggested it. But he clearly wasn't up to a hike through the woods.

They began to pass under bridges, and over them, as the tracks dodged the river and the road -- she even thought she might have heard a car engine once, the echoes coming back from an outcropping of stone. With any luck at all there'd be a level crossing soon. Get Gambit onto a road and she might be able to keep him from falling over his own feet. They could probably hitchhike to a phone, if there were any cars around in the middle of the night. Anything to get off this track and away from the handcar and the feeling that any moment now it was going to all go smash. She only hoped she'd notice the road if they found one. Her world had narrowed to just one thing. Get Mike Gambit someplace safe.

The were on a sharp curve, passing under a stone bridge, when the blare of a car horn overhead pulled her out of her thoughts. Automatically, she turned to look as they came out from under the shadow of the stone. Above her a bowler-hatted silhouette was waving a furled umbrella and shouting. For a moment she couldn't understand the words.

"Gambit! Purdey! Jump! TRAIN!"

* * *

Gambit wasn't sure how he'd managed to get to his feet. He'd thought to pull the handbrake, and Purdey, thank goodness, was too busy gaping at the figure on the bridge to keep pumping the handle. But as the handcar halted, he could still feel vibrations under his feet, and the part of his brain which had automatically responded to Steed's call sent an urgent message at him to hurry up and obey. But he had to step around the rocker-handle, had to get hold of Purdey, who wasn't moving fast enough, and whom he wouldn't leave behind.

He'd caught her around the waist, and she was turning to him, her eyes confused, when the light swept around the curve below, and he had only time to tuck one hand up behind her head, to protect it, when the train whistle blasted at them, deafeningly loud. They fell more than jumped, and it was sheer luck that they fell to the outside of the trackbed and not onto the other set of rails. He felt her wrap her arms around him as they tumbled, shielding his injured chest as best she could from the rocks and grass and mud of the riverbank. Above them the train roared on, the whistle screeching out a warning to the next pair of idiots who got in its way, the lights in some of the compartment windows flashing a semaphore pattern onto the valley walls.

They'd ended in a kind of a tangle in the mud at the edge of the water, and Gambit was still trying to locate the new bruises when he heard Purdey begin to giggle. He held her a little tighter. "Hysterics?" he asked, in a voice not much better than a whisper, "I'm surprised."

"Hysterics my foot," Purdey replied, relaxing in his arms. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he asked, letting his lips brush the top of her head out of sheer gratitude that she was alive.

"About this dress. My mum bought it for me because she said that good silk can really take a beating... but I don't think she was expecting me to put it to the test quite so soon!"

It was a silly thing to laugh at, especially since laughing hurt, but he couldn't stop himself. And then it really hurt, and his chest was on fire, and he couldn't breathe except in huge painful gasps, and it was Steed who was bent over Gambit, concern in his voice.

"Easy, Gambit. We're calling for an ambulance now."

"Not...another...hospital," Gambit managed.

"I'm afraid so," Steed's smile was just visible in the light from the setting moon, and Gambit counted the effort of speaking well spent. Steed wouldn't smile like that if he thought Gambit were going to die.

He tried again. "Purdey?"

"She's all right." Steed looked up and away for a moment. "In fact she's coming now."

Gambit managed to turn his head, and then had to close his eyes against dizziness after a glimpse of a flashlight beam coming rapidly down the hill from the bridge abutment. When he opened them again Purdey was picking her way over the rocks by the river, calling to Steed. "The hotel clerk said it will be twenty minutes, maybe half an hour minimum until the ambulance gets up here from Kronach, but Dr. Kendrick's going to come down, and the clerk too, as soon as they find the stretcher."

_Kendrick?_ Gambit wondered, but he didn't have the breath to ask. Kendrick was meant to be back in London. _Steed must have brought him along._ Gambit dodged Kendrick when he could, knowing that the man had an encyclopedic knowledge of just which agents were late for their physicals, but he'd be glad to see him now.

"We can't leave Gambit lying here for very long," Steed said. "He'll take a chill from the mud."

"I brought a blanket. Maybe we could put it under him."

"Excellent. Here, I'll turn him over long enough for you to get it into place."

Gambit thought it was time he contributed, since the conversation was about him. "Bad idea... I'll wreck... shoes..." If turning his head had made him want to be sick, he wasn't sure what being turned over would do.

But Steed was relentless. "I'll take my chances," he said, passing off his bowler and brolly to Purdey as a precaution before he crouched beside Gambit and gently began to roll him onto the least damaged side. Gambit couldn't protest, but his stomach did, violently, and that made him cough and struggle to make his breathing easier, although nothing really seemed to help until somehow he found himself in a sitting position, wrapped in the blanket, leaning against someone warm while someone else tried to get him to drink from an old-fashioned folding cup.

He felt more than saw more people arrive, heard questions in German and answers too, and made himself open his eyes. The needle of a hypodermic caught the light in the tunnel of his vision and he tried to fight it away, but he was being held too tightly to use his arms, and his leg hurt when he tried to kick. Then Purdey was there, saying something about everything being all right now, and Kendrick and Steed were saying it too and they had his shirt open and he felt a sharp pain not in his arm where he was expecting it but in his ribcage and suddenly he could breathe again and it was such a relief he passed out.

* * *

Steed caught Purdey's arm and held her back as the policeman and the hotel clerk began to maneuver the stretcher up the embankment under Kendrick's direction.

"Easy. We'd only be in the way at this point," he warned her. He needed a report from her too, but she wasn't thinking in those terms. All her attention was on the stretcher, and Gambit.

"His fever's up again," she said, as if she were continuing a conversation she'd been having inside her own head. "Did you notice?"

It had been hard to miss, supporting Gambit upright the way he'd needed to, to help the younger man breathe. "Kendrick will take good care of him," Steed assured Purdey. "I wouldn't have dragged him along from London otherwise."

Purdey's head swivelled around sharply and she stared at Steed. "You were _expecting_ Gambit to be in such bad shape he'd need a doctor?"

"No," Steed said ruefully. "I was expecting him to be in such good shape he'd be arguing about whether or not he needed one." He shook his head. "I wasn't expecting them to take another go at him until Lichtenfels at the earliest, which is why we'd come up from Munich to meet you."

"I wasn't expecting them to take another go at him at all," Purdey admitted. "Once we'd made it out of Berlin..." She bit her lip. "Do you think Dr. Kendrick can keep him safe?"

"Safe enough, now that the police are involved." He tried to assess her condition subtly. "Do you think you'll be up to being interviewed as 'Mabel'? Or would you prefer to faint and avoid the questions?"

"Faint? Me?" She pulled a face, and then sighed. "Come to think of it, Mabel's not the fainting kind either, or we'd still be in Berlin. But I told them Uncle John couldn't fly -- that he'd been ill with pneumonia."

"Then I'll keep my own name and be his butler, shall I?"

She looked up at him, a sudden grin playing about the corners of her mouth. "His butler?"

Steed set his bowler onto his head and tapped it straight for emphasis as he favored her with a reassuring smile. "I can buttle with the best."

"It's going to be complicated," she warned him. "We left a dead man up on the mountain."

"A dead man?" Steed wasn't entirely surprised. Gambit had a habit of leaving corpses in awkward places. "Hmm. Maybe fainting would be simpler. We'll need some time to concoct a decent cover story."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But if we tell the police something now, they may get up there in time to catch 'Janus'."

Steed, who had rested a hand on her shoulder, intending to apply pressure to the nerve nexus and knock her out long enough to add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative, turned the gesture into a guiding hand, ushering her toward the hill. "Stick to the truth as much as you can. Just remember that you have no earthly idea why anyone would want to kidnap Gambit, all right? And if you get well and truly stuck, I suggest a nice fit of hysterics."

"That shouldn't be difficult," Purdey muttered. She wrapped her arms around herself and he could feel her shivering. "Let's get it over with, then," she said. "I want to get up there and find out about Mike."

_Mike, is it?_ Steed smiled to himself as he took off his coat and swung it around her shoulders. _They certainly didn't waste any time_

In the event, the policeman had little chance to ask very many questions. By the time they reached the hotel lobby Gambit had somehow managed to roll off the stretcher and was fighting the blankets and the men who were trying to help him. Purdey waded straight in and caught his hand. "Michael," she said. "Michael, it's Mabel, it's Mabel. Do you hear me?"

His eyes focussed on her, just for a moment. "Shot... stay...don't let them..."

"I'll be right here. See, I've got your hand -- I'm not going to let anything bad happen." Purdey's voice was soft, certain. She was either a very good actress, Steed decided, or she meant every word. She pushed Gambit's hair off his forehead with her free hand. "Just like the hospital, remember? I promised I'd stay and I did."

Rather to Steed's surprise, Gambit's eyes closed and he quieted enough for Kendrick and his recruits to get him settled onto a couch, propped up with pillows so he could breathe. He didn't let go of Purdey's hand, though, and by the white-knuckles on his own, Steed thought that hers must be getting nearly crushed.

"Sedation?" he asked Kendrick, under his breath.

"Not until I have him on oxygen," Kendrick said, not looking up from the examination he was giving Gambit. "He's having enough trouble breathing as it is. And I don't like the look of that lump on his head. A mild concussion at the very least. If we can just keep him quiet he'll be better off waiting until the ambulance gets here from Kronach."

_"Fräulein?"_ The young constable replaced Steed's coat with a heavy red woolen blanket.

Purdey looked around with just the right air of distraction. "Frau," she corrected absently, and blinked at the man's uniform. "You're a policeman, aren't you?"

"Yes Fräule..., gnadige Frau. I am Wachtmeister Schmidt. If you could tell to me what happened." He pulled his notebook and pen out of his pocket and waited expectantly.

Purdey shook her head, though. "I'm not exactly sure. He... he had a bad night last night, and we were so tired... We fell asleep, both of us, almost as soon as the train left Berlin." She turned to Steed. "I'm not sure where we are now."

"Bavaria, just this side of the border," Steed told her as the policeman said, "Steinbach am Wald."

She nodded but kept her eyes on Steed as she went on. "When we woke up, we were in a valley up in the hills, some kind of abandoned switching yard, I think. There were a lot of old railcars... and a dead man. He'd been shot. Michael said we had to get away, that the others were coming back, so we took the handcar."

"'Railcars'?" the constable looked to Steed for a translation.

"Eisenbahnautos," Steed filled in. He nodded to Purdey, just a fraction of an inch, to tell her that she was doing well. "Do you know how long ago that was?"

"Michael said it was near midnight."

Steed looked at the constable. "_Do you know where she means? Can you catch them?"_

_"Ja, I know the place. But I must wake up my Vorgesetzter. I cannot leave the village without telling anyone."_

_"The sooner the better. But you should have reinforcements. Mr. Horrocks' nephew is an important witness in a coming trial -- he left England for his own safety until then. The men who took him are very dangerous, I'm sure_." Steed was rather pleased with himself for coming up with that one. It had worked in Lichtenfels and it worked now.

"What?" Purdey exclaimed, venting some of her tension in the exclamation. But she lowered it to a shaky whisper when the shout made Gambit flinch. "What do you mean a trial?!"

Steed took the cue. "I'm sorry Mrs. Horrocks, but your husband thought it would be best if you didn't worry."

"Didn't _worry?_ If I'd known that Michael was being chased by anyone more dangerous than a cuckold I'd have had the US Army bring him out of Berlin!"

"Now, Mrs. Horrocks, please, you should stay calm..." Steed made placating noises while the constable looked at Purdey's indignation and chose a hasty retreat.

_"Excuse me, I must call...__"_The young man took himself off and Steed took his place by Purdey.

"That should keep him busy," he murmured, patting Purdey's hand and letting his eyes smile at her. "How's Gambit doing?" he asked Kendrick in more public tones.

"I may need to put in a chest tube," Kendrick said. "It looks like he had one before..." he looked the question to Purdey, who nodded.

"If you mean a tube in his chest, yes. The surgeon took it out yester... no, the day before yesterday. Just after I'd reached the hospital." Steed could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Not all of the hysteria had been an act, he suspected, but she was burying it well.

Kendrick nodded. "And if Gambit had had the sense to stay where he was, he'd have..."

"He'd have been kidnapped all the sooner," Steed interrupted, squeezing Purdey's shoulder. He knew that leaving the hospital had been her idea, and he still approved, even with Gambit lying there looking like he hadn't quite managed to dodge the train. "What about Purdey?"

"Haven't had time to see," Kendrick growled. He glanced at Purdey from under bushy eyebrows. "Is any of that blood yours?"

She blinked at the dark stains on her dress and shoes and pulled a face. "I don't think so. I'm just tired, mostly. And hungry. A few bruises."

"Did you hit your head in the fall?"

"No. No, Gambit had his hand in the way." She looked up at Steed. "I'm thirsty too," she said. "And I don't think he's going to let go."

"I'll see what I can do," Steed said.

* * *

Purdey didn't get her hand back until they put Gambit into the ambulance. By then, of course, Dr. Kendrick had dosed him pretty thoroughly, and between the doctor, the attendants, the oxygen tank and the IVs, it was clear she wasn't going to be able to ride along. Steed collected her by the shoulders and turned her back towards the door of the Gasthof Pietz, where the hotelier and his staff were watching the excitement with sleepy interest.

"Do you want a chance to clean up now, or shall we drive down to Kronach as we are?" he asked. He knew which one he'd choose -- his befouled trousercuffs were bound to get fragrant in a closed car -- but he wanted to get Purdey checked over by a doctor reasonably promptly. "I'm afraid I didn't bring along a change for you, but I spoke to the hotelier, and he says he has some maid uniforms to spare."

"Maid uniforms?" Purdey echoed, dragging her attention away from the vanishing lights of the ambulance.

"It's that or one of my spare suits," Steed said, firmly resisting the urge to add something witty about getting her into his trousers. Not even sleeplessness would excuse that sort of thing on such short acquaintance if she were the prickly sort.

But by the gleam in her eye, she'd already thought of the possibilities and was enjoying them quite as much as he was. "Well, you do have seniority," she said mysteriously. "But I think I'd better stick to skirts for now or Mike's likely to get the wrong idea."

"If I know Gambit, he's already had several ideas," Steed said, answering her grin. "Skirts or no."

She made a rude noise, but she didn't disagree with him. "Terry had one or two ideas too," she said cheerfully. "If an eye for the ladies is one of the prerequisites for a field agent, I'm afraid I'm going to fail the course."

"Even if it were," Steed said, "in your case I believe we would definitely make an exception." They'd reached the hotel door, so he couldn't continue the thought, but he came back to it ten minutes later when they were finally in the car and on their way.

"You still want to be a field agent, then?" he asked.

Purdey nodded. She'd borrowed a blanket as well as the maid's uniform, but he'd seen the bruises on her legs and arms before she'd wrapped it around, and he wouldn't have been too surprised if she'd hesitated. Fortunately, she was made of stern stuff. "More than ever," she said. "It needs doing, doesn't it?"

"It does." Steed was well-pleased. If she kept on as she'd begun Purdey was going to be outstanding, even in the elite company of her peers. But it wouldn't do to let her early success go to her head. "Now... while we have the chance, I'd like to know just how you two managed to get kidnapped."

Purdey flushed. "I think it must have been the Schnaps," she began.

* * *

Twenty minutes wasn't nearly enough time to enjoy getting a report out of Purdey, Steed decided, as he maneuvered through the quiet streets of Kronach. Her acerbic descriptions of the nurses at the hospital and Gambit's insistence on doing more than he ought were nearly worth the price of admission all by themselves, even if exhaustion had her quicksilver mind skipping back and forth merrily in the chronology. She didn't make herself the heroine of the piece, either. Gambit came in for a good bit of the credit. And the blame.

"I don't think Gambit will want to believe it was the Schnaps," Purdey said thoughtfully, circling back to her first thoughts again as they pulled into the carpark of the hospital. "I got the impression that he thinks he knows Margot Liebermann pretty well."

_Gambit didn't dandle her on his knee when she was a toddler,_ Steed thought. He wasn't any too pleased to think that Margot had been lured over to the other side, and heaven only knew what he'd tell her father. But that didn't answer Purdey. "Oh, I expect Gambit will manage to come out heart-whole, no matter what we find out," he reassured her. "He's pretty resilient."

"Is he?" She darted a quick, questioning glance at him and he wondered what she saw. "He is." She set her shoulders a little straighter. "I expect that's a good quality in a field agent, too."

"It is," Steed replied, hoping they weren't talking at cross-purposes. A lifetime's study of young ladies had left him with the certainty that most of them were a bit quick off the mark when it came to considering romantic possibilities. _Most, not all. And some of the younger men are just as quick._ "You can't spend too much time living in the past -- or the future -- in this job. If you're building castles in the air you're not going to notice the fellow who's trying to shoot you in the present moment, and that won't do." He'd known agents who managed to combine professional and personal lives, but most of them had come in out of the cold years earlier than they needed to, and Steed's first instinct when he encountered a lovestruck agent was to give a gentle warning. He'd never had to do that with Gambit, but Purdey's lack of training probably meant she hadn't heard the theory yet. "Gambit's got the knack of enjoying what's in front of him."

Much to his relief, Purdey's frown vanished and she put her head back and laughed. "I should say he does!"

Steed chuckled. "Come on. I'd like the doctors to take a look at you, too, before I put you on a plane back to London."

"Back to London?" Purdey blinked. "Already?"

"Well I shouldn't want you to fall too far behind in your classes," Steed pointed out. "Half your instructors have already had words with me."

* * *

It took longer for Purdey to get clear of the medical fuss than she'd hoped it would, mostly because the pleasant young German doctor insisted on personally removing all of the bits of splinter that had worked their way under the skin of her left hand.

"Well?" Steed said, settling down into the chair beside the examination table.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just a few bruises and a scrape or two. What about Mike?"

"Gambit? He'll be laid up for a week at least, but barring complications the doctors think he'll be all right. He's asking for you."

"He is?" Purdey murmured. "Can I--?"

"See him? Certainly. But not for too long. Kendrick wants him to rest, and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"I'll be quick," Purdey promised. He led the way up the stairs to a quiet corridor. Purdey couldn't help notice the parallels to the hospital in Berlin, the nurses' station and the rows of private rooms, but here there was a stolid looking policeman who intercepted them and checked the papers that Steed produced before allowing them to proceed.

"Not taking any chances, are you?" Purdey asked Steed.

"Not even a little one," Steed agreed equably. "I think Gambit's had enough adventures for one week, don't you?"

"Adventures?" Purdey echoed, thoughtfully. "I guess you could call them that."

Steed cocked his head at her. "Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, and Purdey laughed.

"They make you late for breakfast too," she pointed out. "But I have to admit I wouldn't have missed this one for the world. Thank you, Steed. For rescuing us. I can't think of anything I've ever been happier to see than you on that bridge this morning."

"Thank _you_, Purdey." Steed nodded cheerfully. "And don't underestimate what you'd already accomplished -- if you two hadn't had that lantern going I might never have noticed the handcar. But as it was, I saw you -- and I intend to see a great deal more of you once your training's completed. I think you'll make a fine addition to our team."

Purdey wasn't sure she'd heard him right. _"Your _team? I'll be working with you and Gambit?"

Steed nodded. "And a few others. Coyne, for one. Of course, it's up to you."

"I'd love to." If it hadn't been unprofessional she'd have given the senior agent a hug. As it was she offered a hand and smiled broadly. "You won't regret this."

"I know I won't." Steed seemed to understand, anyway, and he bowed over the handshake that sealed the deal, his eyes laughing, even if he wasn't. "Go on then," he told her. "Kendrick's got Gambit in the room at the end of the hall."

Purdey nodded, and made her way down the hall to Gambit's room. When she opened the door, there was an instant feeling of _déjà vu_. Gambit's pallor, his head on the pillow, all the machines. The green line of the oxygen feed was new, and the bandage on his head, but other than that it was like walking into a recurring dream. Had it really only been 48 hours since then? It seemed much longer.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight off unconsciousness -- was beginning to wonder why he was even trying. There was a dream about riding a train through the night with a white-clad angel escort that beckoned every time he let his eyes close. But he couldn't sleep yet. Kendrick had promised that there were no bugs in this hospital room, had even, reluctantly, conceded to Gambit's request to stick around, but it wasn't nearly as reassuring to see the white-haired doctor in the chair by the bed as it had been to know that Purdey was there.

Purdey. That was it. He couldn't sleep until he was sure that she was ali... _safe._ Nightmares aside, he had a clear memory of lying on a couch in a warm hotel lobby, with Purdey holding onto his hand. She'd been sitting an armchair beside him, dirty and exhausted but smiling. There was a sandwich in her other hand, with a few bites taken from it, though her attention had been on something else, and Gambit had been too exhausted to turn his head to see what or whom. _That _memory felt real. Realer, at least, than some of the others, the ones where she was snatched out of his arms by a passing train, or vanished between one moment and the next, or worst of all transfigured herself into Aunt Mabel, right in the middle of the sort of kiss that Gambit had never contemplated giving that worthy in his life.

"Mike?" The word was a whisper, but he opened his eyes straight away and found her standing across the room. Kendrick was standing beside her, but only for the moment it took to scan Gambit's face with a professional glance. He gave a little satisfied grunt and nodded before turning to go out the door.

They were alone. Gambit looked at Purdey and tried to figure out what was different about her, beyond the black uniform dress she was wearing. The bandages on her hand, yes, and the bruises on her legs. But there was a brightness to her, a core of confidence that went deeper than the roles she had played in Berlin. It was like meeting her again for the first time.

"Purdey," he said -- croaked -- and held a hand out to her. She made her way over to the bed and took it.

"I can't stay very long. Kendrick doesn't want me to keep you up," she said, still softly, as if she were wary of disturbing him.

"You can keep me up as long as you like," he tried to purr, but the effect was spoiled by a yawn. Purdey sniggered, wariness forgotten.

"I can see that _you're_ going to recover nicely," she said, in much more her normal tone of voice. But she was smiling.

He smiled back; did his best to keep his eyes open, remembered the bandage on her hand. "You okay?"

"I came up a bit bruised is all. And I've got good news."

"Won the Irish Sweepstakes?"

"Just about. Steed's offered me a job working with him when I've finished my training."

"A job?" Gambit hid his dismay. He should have known she'd fall under Steed's spell. And vice versa. No wonder she was glowing. The man hadn't taken a regular partner since Tara King.

"On his team," she gloated winsomely. "Fresh out of training and I'd be working with _Steed_. And you," she added, squeezing his hand, and he felt the dent in his ego straighten out a little.

* * *

Purdey wondered for a moment if Dr. Kendrick had dosed Gambit with something -- or if the knock on his head had been harder than anyone had warned her. Her big news certainly hadn't got the response she was hoping for. At least, not straight away. But slowly the grin she was hoping for spread sleepily across the invalid's face.

"That should be good value." There was even a bit of a sparkle in his eye. "Are you going to take him up on it?"

Purdey laughed, reassured. "How could I refuse? Someone's got to keep you out of trouble, Mike Gambit, because you're certainly not up to the job."

Gambit chuckled softly. "Best pay attention in first-aid class, then. I might come to you and give the doctors a miss."

He would, too, she suspected, but the prospect was hardly daunting. She'd get a chance to feed him up, anyway, on something tastier than hospital gruel. "I hope you like marshmallows."

Gambit furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Never mind." She laid a hand against his cheek, "No fever now," she said. "But you need another shave."

He didn't seem to notice. She could see the sleep coming over him, but there was still something bright in the way his eyes followed her face.

"One of these days," he promised, speaking as much to himself as he was to her, "I'm actually going to be able to stand up when I talk to you."

"One of these days, Mike Gambit," Purdey repeated, glorying in the knowledge that his chances of keeping the promise were almost guaranteed, now that he was safe. "I'm looking forward to it." It would never be the same, she knew that now. She'd never be so green again, so dependent on another agent for her life -- and with any luck he'd never be hurt so badly he'd need her the same way he had needed her these past few days. They'd be equals -- professionals -- when they met again. And if she was always a little bit fonder of him than the rest it would be because he was the one who was with her when she fell in love with Danger.

"Steed sending you home?"

She nodded. "I've got classes -- miss too many more and I'll have to wait for the next round."

He shook his head, just a fraction. "You'll catch up, no problem. You're a natural." His eyelids fluttered closed, opened again.

"I should let you rest," she said.

"It's resting makes me tired," he said, and then frowned a little bit as if he'd just heard what he said, but his eyelids were drooping.

She grinned. "I'm sure it does," she said. "Try sleeping instead." She let go of his hand and tucked it under the covers. But she'd only got a step or two away before he roused again.

"No good-night kiss, Mabel-love?"

She put her hands on her hips, turned to face his raised eyebrow. "That was a cover. No need for it now."

"Humour me. I don't have much to look forward to for the next week." The smile lurking at the corners of his sleepy pout told her that he was only pretending to be forlorn, but there was something in his eyes that reminded her just how much he hated hospitals.

Purdey debated the pros and cons. Giving into Gambit's blatant attempt at charm would only encourage him. But Steed was right -- you had to have the knack of enjoying what was in front of you. Besides, with Gambit's track record it probably_ would_ put him to sleep. "One last time," she finally relented. "But Auntie Mabel's going into retirement the moment I get out that door. So don't expect it to happen again."

"I can dream, can't I?"

She didn't answer, just leaned down so her lips could meet his. The oxygen feed got in the way at first, but another wave of _déjà vu_washed over her as his hand came up behind her neck. This time there was no pain, just bliss as she let herself savour the warmth of his touch. She'd miss kissing Mike Gambit, no question – unless Auntie Mabel ever needed to take up her duties again – but it was better to give it up before she got addicted to the feeling. Her classmates were safer.

When she felt him start to tremble she broke free and he let her, turning the grasp he'd had on her neck into a brush of his fingers against her cheek before he let his hand fall. "Thanks," he whispered, his eyes already closed. "I owe you one."

She remembered the shape of his arms around her, the shape of his hand cupped behind her head as they bounced down the trackbed and the morning express to Berlin thundered overhead. Remembered him croaking rude songs to give her heart as she worked the pump of the handcar. Remembered his hands leading her through the ringing green dark of the railyard. Remembered the feel of his heartbeat next to her own after she'd nearly fallen and he'd caught her. Remembered all of it, back to the moment that he'd first opened sea-blue eyes and stared at her in another hospital room.

"I think we're even," she told him, although she knew he wasn't going to hear her now. The monitors were steady, the lines of his face had smoothed away. With any luck his dreams were sweeter for the kiss – hers would be! She went to the door, flipped off the overhead light, and took one last look at the sleeping man. A corner of her mouth quirked up suddenly. "But I just might collect someday, anyway."

* * *

Fin et commencement... 


End file.
